


Far From Home

by Well_Then



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Well_Then/pseuds/Well_Then
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The courier has cheated death three times over: Once in the cemetery of Goodsprings, shot twice in the head. Years before then, gasping desperately for breath in a malfunctioning cryo-pod. And centuries before that: when the world ended. </p><p>The charming courier, whose voice puts wastelanders in mind of a female Mr Handy, had a past long before Benny, the NCR, and the Legion. Now, thousands of miles and hundreds of years from home, Tommie finds herself at the centre of the chaos spreading across the Mojave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-War: The War Approaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-War: Britons in New York. The war approaches. Talk of Vegas. An offer from Vault Tec.
> 
> I wrote this because I wanted to give my courier a bit of a backstory - idly thinking about that turned into drafting prose, and then my partner told me to try it out on here. So I have!  
> I'm not really used to writing fiction, which probably comes across, but in any case I hope it's ok.
> 
> The first two chapters are 100% pre-war and vault stuff - to set up the general background as to how a Briton is wandering around the Wastes 200 years after The Great War, and also to show a bit of Tommie and James' relationship as well - but from chapter 3 onwards there will be scenes from the Mojave - getting into the more recognisable stuff from New Vegas.

 

_2 nd September 2077_

 

The terminal was making that whirring noise again. Tommie sighed and put her head in her hands; she had been sat in front of the blasted machine for over 9 hours on that day alone. She was sure that the world when she looked up from the screen looked different; that it wasn’t always so, well... black and green. She sighed again and rubbed her eyes, hoping her sight could readjust to the world outside of the terminal that had become the centre of her universe over the last few days.

She was suddenly aware of movement behind her, of footsteps that stopped behind her chair. “Your terminal’s making that noise again.” Tommie sighed again and spun her chair to face the owner of the voice, her colleague James.

“I noticed.” She replied, she looked at him for a moment before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hang on... where have you been?” James’ face remained impassive, betraying no emotion.

“Around,” he answered. “Don’t worry about it. Did you get the Kaleson report finished?”

“Basically, it’s about ninety percent done. Just need to tidy up the language. And don’t fob me off, James, where have you been?” He gave her a serious look, his pale blue eyes boring into her, and said nothing. Tommie stood up from her chair, continuing to look up at him, her face the picture of determination. James watched her rise and stared down at her.

“You are extremely short, Ms Crossley-Booth,” he told her.

“No I’m not, you’re abnormally tall.” She replied. She stretched out her hand, palm facing up. “Now. Stop holding out on me.” James’ stony gaze cracked and he gave the woman a crooked smile.

“Alright, short stuff. You probably need this more than I do anyway,” He reached into the breast pocket in his blazer, produced a bag of jelly sweets, and tossed them onto the desk next to Tommie’s terminal. She smirked at him; he winked in reply. “Don’t get any ideas, you.” He told her, throwing himself into his own chair at the other side of the desk. “Either you share those – and share them properly – or you owe me a pint.” Tommie sat back down and got to work tearing into the bag of sweets.

“Beer,” she corrected him.

“Eh?”

Beer. I think... I’m not sure they actually do pints here. I think you just ask for a beer, or a bottle.” James considered her.

“What do you mean you ‘think’? You’ve not been out pissing the night away while we’ve been here?” She shrugged.

“Only that welcome drink thing, to be honest. And everyone was drinking bottled beer and spirits then, so no great insight into the great American drinking culture.”

“And yet you seek to educate _me_?” He smirked, leaning back on his chair. Had his side of the desk not been completely covered in papers and empty takeout coffee cups she suspected he would have put his feet up on the surface, and then crossed his legs. _The smarmy git_. She threw up her hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, then. Educate me, then. Oh, font of all drinking knowledge.” He stared at her again, a smile playing on his lips. Finally, he shook his head.

“No idea,” he said. “I’ve only been out two times more than you while we’ve been out here. Both times on bottled beer.”

“Hang on,” Tommie sat up straight and placed the bag onto the desk. “You went out without me?”

“Tommie, we’re together anything up to 12 hours a day, nearly every day of the week...”  
She shot him a mischievous grin.

“So a few hours more wouldn’t hurt, then.” He pulled a face at her, and then laughed.

“Tell you what, we get these reports done and dusted before last orders at the place across the road and I’ll let you buy me a drink.” He could have sworn that, just for a second, a ghost of a true smile, no smugness, and no mischief, swept across her face.

“Sounds good,” she said, reaching back to tie up her long black hair. “And we can finally settle this pint thing while we’re at it.”

“Tying your hair back? This must be serious business, Ms Crossley-Booth.”

“Very serious, Mr Sanderson.” She winked at him. “I’m getting this shit done; you are not going to have an excuse to wuss out on me here.”  
Tommie dodged an incoming ball of paper, flipped James the bird, and carried on with her report.

At least her terminal had finally stopped whirring.

 

 

* * *

 

_8 th October 2077_

 

“He’s not fucking serious? He can’t be. Surely?” Tommie whispered as quietly as she could. James shrugged, running his fingers through his short blond hair and then tugging at it absentmindedly. A strange habit he’d acquired over the last few weeks at the office, which he’d find himself doing whenever he was stressed or anxious.

“It’s looking bad, Tommie.” He said. “They’re talking about evacuation. There’s something about a ‘recall to the UK’, but I’ve no idea what that really means. But it’s bad here, you know it’s bad here right now.”

“Yes of course, the bloody country is basically at war – but parliament wanting to bring us home? Surely things haven’t gotten that bad? There’s been no real chatter for a while now.” James frowned at her.

“Well none that we know of, but we’re basically glorified tea maids at this point.”

“We write reports.”

“Aye, but I’ve never worked on a military one. Have you?”

“No,” Tommie conceded, she began to shift her body weight from foot to foot – her own anxious tell. James grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly to steady her.

“We don’t know what’s going on out there. If they really are demanding the ambassador and the envoys go back then shit really must be going down.” Tommie nodded.

“Yeah, I guess it really doesn’t look good.”

“Now there’s an understatement.” James gave her a small smile. “Still, I’ve never been evacuated before, should be interesting. Plus, it would be nice to go home, even if only for a weekend.”

Tommie couldn’t disagree there; it felt as though a geological age had passed since she had stepped off of the plane at New York Airport, and even longer still since she had received the offer to work for the skeleton staff that the British government had kept on in the States (even after the oil talks had failed so spectacularly three years before).

She missed home more than she could bear at times. Although working alongside James had helped to quell her homesickness in no small part. While their senior colleagues were kind enough, there was something about James in particular that felt _grounding_.

Being near him made her feel so close to home that she could almost smell the heather. As though if she were to turn her head, she’d see hills in the distance. As though she were walking the family dogs on a (damp, invariably damp) summer’s afternoon, rather than sat at a desk with an overloud terminal in a cramped office. And there were times, when James’ place had been closer, when everyone was far too busy and panicked about rumours of impending war to notice that she hadn’t changed her clothes, when he smiled his crooked smile at her, and when his pale blue eyes – which had seemed almost like ice the first time they had met – looked at her, _really_ at her, that James felt more than a connection to their homeland. Times like those, James _was_ home.

 

Though she was damned if she’d tell him that.

 

* * *

 

 

_19 th October 2077_

 

“Your terminal is whirring again,” James observed, taking the opportunity – with Tommie in her almost frantic state – to steal another cookie from her side of the desk.

“Yes, James, I did notice.” She sighed.

“No need to be rude,” he chided. “I’m just letting you know.”

“If indeed I am being rude, then at least I’m not being _stealing-your-biscuits_ level rude.” She replied, still not looking up from her terminal, on which she was typing frantically.

“You’d never be that rude,” James agreed, reaching over for another cookie. Tommie finally raised her head to look at him and give him a mock-withering look. His hair was a state; the habitual nervous kneading of his own head was starting to take its toll as it stuck out at all angles. Still, she conceded, it would help if he would at least take a brush to it. James gave her one of his crooked smiles; Tommie stuck her tongue out at him. “What are you working on anyway?” James asked after a moment. “Actually, is there even any point in doing all this anymore anyway?” Tommie sat back in her chair, swivelling it from side to side by pushing her feet against the floor, she sighed again.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “But what the hell else can we do?” James shrugged.

“Run away?” He suggested. “Every fucker else seems to have. I heard Jones is travelling up to Michigan, Sykes and Smith have headed out towards Florida –“  
“Wait,” Tommie cut him off. “Sykes and Smith? As in Todd Sykes and Rob Smith? I thought they hated each other?”

“They do,” James agreed, “but they’ve also been fucking since Anchorage happened.” Tommie considered this.

“Well. That does explain a lot, to be fair.”

“Of course it does. Though as I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted. They’ve headed to Florida, and I know that Taylor, Wells, and Spencer have fucked off to Vegas.” Tommie raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really? _Vegas_?”

“No word of a lie,” James replied. “Spoke to Taylor about it before they left. Her reasoning is that there’s an expanse of dessert there, so it’s less likely to prove a target.”

“Yes, but there’s also desserts in Arizona.”

“Aye, but fewer hookers.” Tommie snorted a laugh; James winked at her. “You know, we should go to Vegas. When this is all over.”

“You wanting to chase some hookers too?” Tommie teased.

“Not particularly, though you knock yourself out if you’re needing a bit of strange, sweetheart. No, I was thinking more about seeing the sights, taking in a show, maybe a little light gambling?”

“This definitely has nothing to do with your old man teaching you to count cards, I take it?” James gawped at her in mock outrage. 

“How very dare you. I considered no such thing.”

“Of course not,” Tommie said. “Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“Of course.” They smiled at one another. “But seriously, we should definitely go,” James continued. “I’ve always wanted to check out Vegas, and doing so with a gorgeous lass on my arm sounds like _the_ way to do it.”

“Yeah, ok. You’re on. When all this nonsense has died down, we’ll head out to sin city.” Tommie reached out her little finger towards James.

“You and your bloody ‘pinkie-swears’,” he chided, but he met the finger with his own regardless. Tommie opened her mouth to reply but before she could even get out the first word, a knock at the door broke the moment and the pair withdrew their arms.

“Come in?” James called to the knocker. The door opened and a harried-looking woman in a navy business suit with a blue and yellow tie entered.

“Good morning to you both, I do hope that I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all”, Tommie replied.

“Ah, excellent!” trilled the woman, she gave the pair a smile that Tommie was sure was supposed to convey delight, but instead seemed to suggest someone in some minor personal hell but not about to admit it. “I’m here from Vault Tec to talk to you about an amazing opportunity in these, um” the woman gave a small cough “ _troubling_ times.”

“Well I don’t know about that,” James interjected, “things are peachy. In fact, we were just talking about our next holiday, weren’t we, dear?” Tommie rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, about him. Please do go on, Ms-?”

“Wilkerson,” the Vault Tec woman replied. “As I was saying, you will no doubt be aware that tensions are at an all time high with some of the enemies of our great nation.”

“ _Your_ great nation,” James corrected. Tommie kicked him under the desk, but only lightly: he was being rude, but he wasn’t wrong. “We’re not American, you see. Hence why we sound like those ‘Mr Handy’ things you all seem to have.”  
For the briefest moment, Tommie noticed that Wilkerson gave James a withering look, but she rallied magnificently, flashed those pearly whites (in a manner that suggested more of a grimace than a grin) and soldiered on.

“Quite so, Mr Sanderson – and that is one reason why you have been pre-selected for entry into Vault 42.” James held his hands up and silenced her.

“I’ll stop you right there, Ms Wilkerson. My dear colleague Ms Crossley-Booth and I are what we call in our native tongue, _brassic_ – and in yours: freaking penniless.” Tommie shrugged as confirmation. The pay for a junior assistant to a junior assistant to someone that had been put on a plane back to the UK a week ago was not anything to write home about. If she even could write home, that was.

Wilkerson let out a brittle and glaringly false laugh. Tommie would have found her rude had she not noticed just how sunken her eyes were. Instead, she idly wondered when the woman had last had more than an hours’ sleep.  
“You misunderstand me, Mr Sanderson.” She chirped. “This Vault is for specially-selected individuals, and as such is free of charge for their use.” Out of the corner of her eye, Tommie noticed James sit up straight for more or less the first time in almost a week.

“Well now that is interesting,” he conceded. “But then why us?” Ms Wilkerson gave a small cough and launched into her spiel, explaining that the Vault was intended to house representatives from a number of specially selected countries to ensure that international ties could still be kept in the event of (“ahem”) “total nuclear annihilation”. She explained that as the only two representatives left from the UK- James cut her off.

“McLean? Anderson?” James asked, brows furrowing. Wilkerson checked her clipboard.

“I have it here that they’ve both left as of this morning. This leaves you two as the most senior members of diplomatic staff, representative of the UK, that are still present in New York City at this time.” James’ eyes widened in mild panic.

“You do know she’s only got a degree in philosophy and classics, right? And that I’m only here because it was easier than doing teacher training. As in, we’re not real people – we’re just sort of... _here_.” Wilkerson nodded.

“Be that as it may, the key word is: here. You are _here_ ; everyone else from your country who has diplomatic clearance is, well, _not_. As such, the places in the Vault go to you. However, this being said: if a person in a more senior position returns, then one of you will be expected to surrender their place to him or her in that instance.”

“What a happy, comforting thought.” Tommie had been sure that she had thought it, but a snort from James confirmed otherwise. She rubbed her face. “Sorry,” she muttered from behind her hands.

“Quite alright” Wilkerson replied, with a face that suggested otherwise. “But until such a situation arises, the places in the Vault are yours. Now, I just need you to fill in these forms.” She pulled some papers from the clipboard and handed them over to Tommie and James. Tommie frowned at the sheet.

“And what exactly _is_ a cryo-pod, Ms Wilkerson?”

\---

 

So that was that – become a human popsicle, or risk melting in atomic fire. Talk about being trapped between a rock and a hard place. Wilkerson had insisted, several times, that the technology was tested, and that it was safe. That there would be staff, unfrozen ones, to keep an eye on things, that this is the best thing to do, given the likely fallout in the event of an attack. This way they would be able to help the other frozen people to bring twenty-first century diplomacy to... whatever the hell was left after the bombs had fallen.

One hundred years after the bombs.

“Everyone we know will be dead,” James murmured. They were back at his flat, Tommie’s head on his lap. The television was blaring away in the corner. He’d turned it on out of habit; he knew that they had no chance of being able to put any real effort into watching it. At least not tonight.

“In all fairness,” Tommie replied looking up at him, “they probably would be anyway.”

“Not our families. Not the people we know back home.”

“Maybe not,” Tommie agreed. “But if the US gets nuked, how the hell do we get back to England? Even you’re not that strong a swimmer. And anyway, that assumes we’d even survive.”

“You think New York would get targeted?”

“Definitely; I’d say us and DC are the most obvious targets,” Tommie replied; James nodded and sighed.

“I guess so. Still, there’s no guarantee that anything will even happen. We might make it to Vegas after all!” Tommie smiled up at him; James winked back.

  
Meanwhile the news finally stopped talking about military movements and turned to celebrity gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the use of a cryo-vault... it occurred to me that while Vault Tec's scientific methods weren't exactly sound, they did still make the effort to have the occasional control vault. As such, I figured that there would probably be a cryo-vault control to balance the research done at vault 111. And it would be a nice, added bonus to have that populated with important figures as it would be a social experiment all its own to see how pre-war diplomats would cope with the Wastes of the future. That was my reasoning, anyway. 
> 
> To clarify, Tommie and James work for a skeleton consulate that Britain kept in the US even after everything went a bit pete-tong back in '74. I'd originally meant for them to be working at the UN until my partner (who's better on the lore than I am) reminded me that that wasn't a thing in the Fallout universe, having collapsed long before the great war; this was the alternative I came up with. Basically, I wanted a reason for an otherwise random, unremarkable Brit to be chosen for a cryo-vault.


	2. Pre-War and in the Vault: The World's End.

_23 rd October 2077_

 

On the day the bombs fell, Tommie and James had gotten into the office earlier than usual, busying themselves with endless reports and admin, trying to cover the work of their runaway colleagues for senior staff back home that had been evacuated what had felt like a lifetime ago.

By 8am, James had already won a bet on how many cookies he could fit into his mouth, and had particularly impressed Tommie with the way he had unabashedly kept them in his mouth for the following five minutes, including when a more senior assistant from the French consulate popped his head around to check on the progress of some admin with which they were meant to be grappling. In a spray of crumbs, James had told him: “Ee Ull Errr Ugh” – which Tommie translated to the Frenchman as “It should be ready for tonight”. Tommie was aware that they were probably getting a slight reputation for, ahem, _professionalism_ , but she was finding it harder and harder to care.

In the corner of the room, the small radio that she had brought in from her flat played quietly. Tommie stretched and then settled back into her chair, humming along to the music as she skim-read the report she was working on. They continued in this happy state for a short while longer until an announcement interrupted the Sinatra song that James had been singing along to, mock-serenading Tommie. The next moments passed in a blur, there radio presenter spoke of reports of the launch of nuclear weapons, _the terror in his voice_ – Tommie couldn’t for the life of her remember the man’s words, but she knew that she would never forget the barely-concealed fear, the trembling, in the man’s voice. There were loud noises, the sirens echoing through the building. They’d heard them so many times before for the seemingly endless readiness drills, but on that day it was almost as though she was hearing them for the first time. James took her hand and pulled her along with him, towards the vault in the basement of the building. She soon broke through her cold, absent shock and picked up her pace alongside him.

There were so many people, she would later recall. So many staffers, even diplomats, shouting at the Vault Tec officials to be allowed in; before long, they started surging forwards. Tommie and James held onto one another as tightly as they could, James using his free arm to try to push through the crowd to make his way to the officials. There was a high-pitched whirring sound which made the room fall silent, when Tommie got to the front, she saw that the noise had belonged to a pair of miniguns which had been spun in warning at the crowd.

After what felt like hours, but had really only been less than two minutes, James and Tommie reached the front. The Vault Tec man waved them through after checking their IDs and they hurried in through the entrance chamber, and into the vault.

They had been inside for less than minute when the ground shook and the world ended.

\---

 

“Well. If nothing else, I’m glad I’ve been cutting down on the Fancy Lads Snack Cakes.” Tommie said as she finished zipping up her vault suit. She had been rather surprised to see just how little they’d left to the imagination. _Still_ , she thought while considering how James’ form filled his suit, _it could be worse_.

“You’ll be regretting that diet come the future, Tommie.” James replied, “just you watch: everyone will be about the girls with a bit of meat on them.”

“Oh?"

“Of course they will be. Stands to reason: in times of famine, it's larger people that become the more attractive. Represents the fact that the person has actually had enough to eat, that she’ll likely provide healthy offspring. You mark my words, you will regret the lack of any junk in that trunk.” Tommie slapped his arm; James in turn grabbed her firmly and pulled the surprised Tommie into a tight hug. “Sorry, hon,” he whispered into her hair, still holding her tightly. “I’m talking even more than usual. Must be this whole _end of the world_ thing.” She returned the hug.

“Well I guess I can let you off,” came her muffled reply. “I’m just really glad you’re here with me.” She felt his grip tighten at that.

The pair remained in the embrace until one of the Vault Tec people came to collect them, explaining that it was time to go into the pod.

 

 

* * *

  

_23 rd October 2277_

 

The big day had finally arrived. Which meant that Ella Bellhouse had to be up significantly earlier than she would have liked. But at least the lab had extra coffee for the occasion, good stuff too, rather than the usual rubbish that the scientists typically had to endure. But it was, of course, a special occasion.

Everyone knew how important this was, not least because everyone knew how much of a disaster it had been the first time that the members of the vault had tried to defrost the popsicles... the _people_... she was going to have to get out of the habit of calling them popsicles if she was going to be living in the same vault as them from today. Assuming, of course that any of them survived.

Ella ambled, coffee in hand, around the cryo-stasis pods. Half trying to wake herself up at this ungodly hour, and half trying to hide from Dr Elken who had by now become the living embodiment of sheer stress and would not, to put it politely, be particularly pleasant company. The man carried the world on his shoulders today, Ella thought idly as she sipped her unusually good coffee, at the very least the world of the past. She knew that it had been Elken’s grandfather who had been in charge of the first attempt to bring the popsicles ( _ahem_ ) out of stasis on the scheduled date, he knew that he, for whatever reason, carried a strong feeling of shame about that day – a desire to balance out the failures of a century ago with a triumph today.

Such a desire hadn’t affected any other member of the Elken family, nor indeed anyone else in the vault. After the failure of the first attempt to bring those in the pods out of stasis, and once those who had survived had been stabilised and their pods brought back online, the project had plummeted to the bottom of the to-do list for the vault. That they had even remembered to undertake their first attempt was in no small part due to the timing of the event, it had made sense to tie it in with the commemorations of the Great War. And so it had made sense, when the bugs had been worked out, when the system had been sorted, to launch the second attempt on the bicentenary of the falling of the bombs. Not least, Ella had mused, given that – according to the now-ancient vault records - the people in the pods were politicians, diplomats, and other political sorts.

Ella snorted a laugh into her coffee – she could hear the speech now: “two hundred years ago, the world ended; let’s hear from some people who probably didn’t help the situation...”.

In spite of herself, however, Ella was actually rather looking forward to the event. Not only would there be more of this coffee, and perhaps some half-decent food, but if the doctor was right, and the systems really could stand this second attempt at defrosting the popsicles, then the chances were that those that survived would have some great stories to tell. Maybe they’d have secret, ancient recipes that would unlock the secret of regular access to non-shit coffee.

Suddenly, the room's intercom crackled and came to life; a man's voice, shrill with panic, sounded through the speakers.

“Bellhouse, what the hell are you doing? Get back into the control room right now!” Ella sighed and downed the rest of her coffee.

“Coming, Dr Elken” she called back, and walked towards the door.

 

* * *

 

_28 th October 2277_

 

Tommie was cold.

She’d never felt so cold in all her life. She shivered and pulled the bedsheets tight around her. The room was unfamiliar; its walls were, for the most part, clinically white but Tommie noticed as well that they were accented with lines of yellow and blue. The particular shades of these colours quietly rang some bells in the back of her mind until the rest of her brain caught up to her. ‘Vault Tec’ she thought to herself. _So we made it to the Vault, then..._

Her memories were hazy. She recalled the sirens, the running, the panic, and... something about snack cakes? As her eyes became more accustomed to the dim light of the room, she noticed a figure in the corner of the room. It was slumped in a chair, its head back and its mouth open from which a gentle but oddly distinctive snore rang out. And with that, Tommie felt herself relax. Whatever else had happened – whatever else _was_ happening – _he_ was here. She tried to call out to him but her throat was dry and her voice weak from lack of use for God knew how long, and so instead her attempt to say “James!” simply led to a brief coughing fit.

“Well you’re up then,” James said. Tommie looked up at him, he was grinning. He looked tired, and his hair looked as though he’d been tugging at it again, as he so often did when he was worried, but he was there, flesh and blood. _Alive_. And he looked a picture of sheer relief and joy, poorly disguised underneath his almost trademark lopsided grin. Tommie could think of no proper words and simply smiled at him.

“How long have you been up anyway?” He asked her, trying to stretch out while remaining sat in the chair. “Here,” he added as an afterthought. “You weren’t watching me sleep were you?” Tommie laughed and opened her mouth to reply.

“Don’t be an arse,” she told him. Her words came out as a croak and she conceded a small cough at the end but at least she’d managed to speak this time.

“You _were_ watching me, weren’t you?” He teased, drawing himself up from the chair and walking over to the bed. “Tommie Crossley-Booth, you utter bloody _pervert_.”

“You’re one to talk,” Tommie croaked in reply. “You’ve been watching _me_ sleep from the looks of it, and apparently for a while... James, you even brought a damn chair for the show!”

“Not the same thing,” he replied, shaking his head. He sat on the bed beside her and took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. “Watching someone in a coma isn’t pervy. It’s _allowed_. Watching someone _actually_ sleep, however...”

Tommie tried to slap him playfully on his cheek, but found she was too weak to even move her arm much against his gentle embrace of her hand. Nonetheless, the move didn’t go unnoticed and James kissed her hand.

“You need to rest up, kidda,” he told her, placing her hand back down. “I don’t like this whole _not getting righteous retribution for my barbs_ thing. You need your strength back.” Tommie frowned.

“Surely I’ve been sleeping for a fair while?”

“Coma sleep is not the same as normal sleep – that goes for stuff like restfulness as well as how perverted it is to watch it,” he told her. “You’d better get some proper sleep.” Tommie opened her mouth to speak, but James spoke again. “I’d better go and tell the doc that you’re awake – though all these fancy machines already he probably has an idea. Or one of the nurses does... or at least a janitor or something... Anyway, I need to go find him but then I’ll be back. You won’t be on your own, you don’t need to worry.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face and gently kissed her forehead.

“So you’ll be right here as I sleep?” She asked.

“I will be,” he promised. Tommie grinned at him.

“You bloody pervert.”

James laughed. “Aye... but we both knew that anyway,” he winked and stood up from the bed. Tommie’s smile fell.

“James?” She all but whispered, James spun back to face her. “I was in a coma?”

“Gathered that did you?” He asked, eyes shining, “from the half-a-dozen times I said ‘coma’ maybe?”

“First class mind at work, darling,” she replied. “But seriously... why?” James pulled a face and then gave Tommie a look which was all calculations and concern. Eventually, he replied.

“You weren’t a happy bunny when they defrosted you.”

“I’m never a happy bunny, I’m grumpy as all hell at times – what does that have to do with comas?”

James sighed.

“Is this really the time?” Tommie shrugged, or rather tried to before giving up with a small wince at the effort the gesture had cost her. She had never felt so damn _weak_.

“Probably not, but I need to know.” She gave James a small, mischievous grin. “Besides, I’ll be so curious about it, I won’t be able to sleep.” James rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes, because the story will put you out like a damn light, of course.” He replied, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“Okay well now I really do have to know!”

James sighed and sat back down on the bed.

“Look, I don’t know the proper ins and outs, this science-y stuff isn’t exactly my forte, but it basically boils down to this: when they tried to defrost us the first time—“

“The first time?!” Tommie interrupted; James held up a hand.

“Do you want me to tell you this or not?” Tommie nodded and quietened down. “The first time they tried to defrost us, something went wrong. No idea what, but they lost two-thirds of the pods. They managed to get those of us left frozen again and they spent a while fixing things so that it couldn’t happen again... which of course meant that it invariably _did_ happen again. This time 5 pods failed, which was more than half of what was left over from the original lot.”

“Shit...” Tommie breathed; James nodded.

“It’s a doozy alright,” he agreed.

“So there’s only us and two others left?”

“Us and _three_ others,” James corrected her. Tommie looked at him, puzzlement etched across her features. James rolled his eyes. “Come on, you’re supposed to be the brainy one, here. Turns out you have an abnormally resilient body. Which sounds particularly perverted coming from me, but in any case it’s what stopped you popping your clogs like those other poor bastards. But yeah, total failure of life support systems will usually do some damage, even to a tough British broad.” He winked at her, but Tommie merely stared at him, mouth agape. After a moment, her expression seemed to start to bother him.

“You’ll catch flies if you stay like that,” he told her.

“There are flies in here?” She asked weakly in reply.

“Don’t think so,” James conceded. “Apparently there are some massive versions of the fuckers out in the Wastes, though.” He added unthinkingly; Tommie felt her blood run cold.

“The _Wastes_?” She looked up at him, frightened. “The bombs...” James nodded sadly.

“Look, I’m not going to get into it now.” He said sternly. “I’ve already probably told you way more than I’m supposed to. I’m not saying much more today – all you need to know is this: you survived. You’re safe. I’m here with you and I’m not going to go anywhere, you’re stuck with me... even more than usual. Everything will be OK, one way or another.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head; in his arms Tommie’s shoulders began to shake and tears began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the pre-war stuff done basically done (at least what I have planned). The Next chapter will be more familiar for fans of the game. 
> 
> Also, from here on in I'm going to intersperse scenes from Tommie's adventures in the Mojave with those from her past. I want to try to indicate how she became the woman that she is and what informs some of her reasoning in decision-making.


	3. Mojave: Well, Ain't That a Kick in The head.

 

_11 th October 2281_

 

“Guess who’s waking up over here!” The voice came filtered through the ringing in Tommie’s ears. It sounded hugely amused, but she had a pretty strong feeling that she probably shouldn’t share the sentiment – at least not while in the company of the owner of the voice. She moved her head slightly and heard her hat scrape along gravel. In truth, she was amazed that it was still on at all. Her vision was blurred, but it was slowly starting to return to normal. Everything was sideways... so she was definitely on the ground then. Confirmation of the fact was always good to have, she reasoned. Her head pounded and she felt as though she would vomit from the pain, but otherwise she felt quite calm.

She’d been kidnapped a ridiculous number of times. It was quite sad, really. And those who had taken her usually found that they’d picked on the wrong girl in no time at all. This time felt different – whatever it was they’d use to hurt her head had done a number on her. She could usually take a cosh to the head like a champion. Sure she went down like a sack of spuds, as her dad would have said, but she usually felt better than this on coming around after. Heavens knew what they’d used on her – her head felt all in one piece so it probably wasn’t a supersledge or a rebar club, but it was something nasty all the same. Tommie tried to ignore the voice in the back of the head which was telling her that maybe these guys, unlike previous, ahem, _hosts_ , hadn’t been planning on her coming back around. Maybe the voice that had sounded so entertained by the notion of her coming around was interested because _this wasn’t supposed to happen_ , because he wanted to know _what would happen next_... everyone loves a show, after all.

That everything was sideways was annoying her almost as much as the ringing – and the pain wasn’t helping her temper, either. She tried to right herself and found her wrists bound. _Well of course,_ she thought to herself, sighing inwardly. She was probably going to be late with the damn delivery now, and it had been such a well-paid job this time, too...

With some discomfort, and rather a lot of effort, Tommie brought herself more or less upright through some complicated manoeuvres with her elbows. She remained kneeling, however, she could feel the ankle ties as she had tried to sit up and decided against fighting against them, at least until she had a better idea of what was going on. Upon sitting upright, her vision blurred again, her head pounded even worse than before. She could make out the shape of three people – men, judging from the build (though of course that was never a foolproof method), as her vision finally cleared, she looked up at the figures and was at least able to confirm her guess about their sex. She took in as many details as she could as her mind raced.

 _We’re on a hill... we’re still quite far from Vegas... I think we’re still near Primm? So I didn’t get far but neither did they..._ She focused a little more on the figures. _Two tribals... Khans, maybe? Their dress suggests so – and one looks jumped up on chems but not wrecked by them, so more likely Khans than fiends at least._ She relaxed a little at recognising that; Khans were essentially raiders most of the time, but they had an honour of sort – hence why they were one of the few raiding groups that she found she didn’t instinctively despise. Hopefully their honour would hold up here, _after all I’m not dead, so maybe they really do want me alive anyway..._ But the third man gave her pause. _A chequered suit? But if we’re so far from Vegas... who the hell wears a suit anywhere near_ Primm _? Have the Nashes finally gone in for a fine dining restaurant and forgotten to mention it?_

Tommie noticed that he was the only one looking away from her, unlike the two men flanking him, he did not look particularly entertained or amused that she had woken up. She watched as he put out the cigarette that he had been smoking and heard him speak.

“Time to cash out,” he muttered, breathing out a last plume of smoke. Tommie frowned, in part from the pain in her head, and in part at the man’s words. _That did not sound good_.

“Will you get it over with?” Said one of the Khans; she hadn’t recognised either of the voices as the one that had sounded so amused at her waking so she judged that that had been the redheaded man to her right. That man was now watching the two other men, his eyes like saucers, his head darting from side to side. _Hocked up on chems and has a shovel. Brilliant._ Tommie thought gloomily, she looked back at the man in the suit. Some part of her brain was screaming at her not to let him out of her sight for too long, some inexplicable, primal knowledge that, despite all appearances to the contrary, the man in the suit was by far and away the greatest danger to her right now. Which was odd, the Khan’s should be scarier – they’re hard to kill, they fight like the blazes, and thanks to their fantastically inclusive systems, they don’t underestimate women – which was a weakness that tended to lead to her escapes, to her occasional victories, and to some groups of ne’er-do-wells to later acknowledge, as they buried their dead, that women could surprise you. Especially when they had managed to sneak a ripper in under their clothes.

But Tommie knew when to trust her gut; it had saved her more times than she cared to count over the thousands of miles that she had crossed from New York to this part of the Mojave, right at the edge of Nevada. And so when it told her that the man in the suit was the one to watch, she listened.

The man didn’t turn to face the Khan that had just spoken, but closed his eyes and pulled a face, lifting a finger to silence him. _He’s found the comment distasteful_ Tommie noted. _So why isn’t that making me feel any better?_  
The man opened his eyes as he spoke, looking right into Tommie’s as he did so.

“Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face,” he said, his eyes left Tommie’s so that he could glare at the Khan. “But I ain’t a fink, you dig?” _Ah. That might be why_ Tommie thought glumly. She watched as the man returned his gaze to her. He reached into his breast pocket and produced a silver-looking poker chip. “You’ve made your last delivery, kid” He told her. _Well at least I know what was in the package, I suppose_ , Tommie found herself thinking.

She was amazed at how calm she felt. This was the first time she had ever been completely on her own, no backup, no weapon, and at the mercy of people who, from the sounds of it, really did want her dead. Not just incapacitated so that they could make some caps, but utterly and completely dead. And yet, despite a small amount of shaking (some of which, she conceded could have been down to whatever injury they’d already given her), she felt weirdly and utterly calm. The end had come; she just had to accept it.

_And at least I’ll finally get to see everyone again. Mum, Dad, Nick, the lads from the caravan... and James._

_I_ _’ll see James again..._

She felt overcome with an odd determination and found herself straightening up. There was no desire to hunt for a weapon or an escape route. She knew she was tied up well, that she half wanted to scream with the pain in her head, and that she’d be no match for three men in this state anyway. If this was the end, she was going to damn well meet it with some semblance of dignity.

 _What is it James always used to say? ‘Let’s not let the side down: we have to keep the centuries old stereotypes alive: stiff upper lip and that... even though no one knows them, or Britain, anymore...’_ She found herself almost smiling at that memory; this slight change in expression did not seem to go unnoticed by the man in the suit: his expression didn’t change, but he did reach for his gun.

“Sorry you got twisted up in this scene,” he said. He almost sounded sincere. Tommie’s eyes were drawn to the gun almost of their own accord, and while panic still did not set in, she felt some of her steely calm give way to a cold feeling of dread which clenched at her stomach.

“From where you’re kneeling, it must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck,” he continued. Tommie dragged her gaze back away from the gun and looked the man in the face again. Although the dread remained, twisting at her guts, she felt a renewed determination to see this out properly. James’ voice seemed to echo in her head from all that time ago, calling to her from beyond the grave _‘...stiff upper lip and that...’_.

The man turned his gun on her, and she found herself staring down its barrel. With the last of her strength, she found it in her to lift up her head, chin up, staring the man down, right in the eye. _I’m going to die,_ Tommie acknowledged, _but by God I’m going out with my head held high_. Tommie heard the more primal parts of her brain scream in panic, but she overruled them, head held high she thought now only of the blue-eyed man with his lopsided grin.

_James, I’m coming home..._

“The truth is,” the man continued, giving her a small shrug. “The game was rigged from the start.”

 

Then everything went black.


	4. Mojave: Welcome to Goodsprings

_19 th October 2281_

 

It took a lot of herself, but she managed to gasp rather than scream. As the room had started to come into view, Tommie had dully wondered if this was heaven. Then she saw the ceiling fan. She had no true reasoning behind it, and theology had never been her strong suit, but for some reason a ceiling fan seemed confirmation that she hadn’t sauntered up to any pearly gates. Of course, it could have been that she’d died and gone to _the other place_ , but she doubted that the world of brimstone and fire would provide its guests with ceiling fans. It would make things a whole lot more comfortable after all, and that seemed to defeat the point.

So that meant that she must still be alive; somewhere with a ceiling fan.

This was where the panic had set in. If she was still alive, did that mean that the men were still around somewhere? Those Khans and, her stomach seemed to twist at the memory, that man in the suit. Her head ached; nothing like the banging pain that had plagued her as the man had shot her, far duller than that, but hugely painful nonetheless. Had the men meant to keep her alive after all?

 _What the hell was the deal with all the ‘kill’ talk and the bloody gun, then?!_ She raged internally, which seemed to make the pain even worse; she gasped again.

“You’re awake! How ‘bout that...”

Tommie felt herself freeze on instinct, but through the pain and the panic enough of her remained conscious to note that, first of all, she didn’t recognise the voice and so was sure that it didn’t belong to any of the men from the shooting. Second, and this seemed the most important feature, unlike the Khan from before, the new voice’s comment on Tommie’s waking didn’t sound amused or entertained, it sounded relieved, happy, almost amazed. In short, it sounded like a voice that hadn’t reckoned on her getting up, but was actually rather pleased that she had. Perhaps a little against her better judgement, Tommie tried to sit up, pushing up on her elbows, and turning to face the owner of the voice. She felt woozy, indeed ‘felt’ was too weak a word for the sensation, rather it hit her like a supersledge as she tried to sit up. _No wrist or ankle ties_ , she noted (or rather what little part of her still seemed to be on the ball did).

“Whoa, easy there. Easy.” Came the voice again; it was soothing. Its owner reached out an arm to steady Tommie, who even in her panicked state, found she was glad of the help. “You’ve been out cold a couple of days now, why don’t you just relax a second? Get your bearings” He told her.

Tommie sat still as her head ached and swam in equal measure. Finally, her vision started to come back in earnest. She was finally able to properly make out the owner of the voice: an old man with white hair and a moustache. He was sat leaning towards her, but his body language was amiable, relaxed, and non-threatening.

“Let’s see what the damage is,” he said; Tommie wondered if that was to her or to himself. “How about your name?” He asked. “Can you tell me your name?” Tommie frowned, she wondered whether she should even answer. Then again, she reasoned, this person seemed less inclined to kill her than other people she’d encountered of late. He hadn’t tied her up, and his body language was fine. She was a strong believer in listening to her instinct; right now, it was telling her that this man seemed on the level.

“Tomasina Sanderson,” she answered, eventually. “But everyone calls me Tommie, for short.”

“Hah,” he said; he sounded surprised. “I can’t say that’s what I’d have picked for you but if it’s your name, it’s your name.” Tommie shrugged.

“Fell way down the family tree: there’s at least one Tom in every generation along my Dad’s side of the family – that is there _was_ at least one Tom,” she corrected herself. “But my Mum only had me before she died, and I lacked the relevant parts to be a Thomas, so Tomasina it was.” Tommie noticed that the man was giving her a slightly strange look. “Sorry,” she said,  “I ramble sometimes, it’s a bit of a pain.” The man smiled at her.

“Well as long as it’s something that you typically do then that’s fine, I was worried there’d been a bit of damage.” Tommie frowned at him again, confused. The man, in answer, looked up above her eyes towards the top of her head. Trembling slightly, Tommie reached up her hand and gently touched her forehead where, following some brief questing, she found two raised areas which hurt to the touch. She winced at the pain.

“Bullet holes?” She asked, her voice almost a whisper. The man nodded sadly and shrugged a little.

“I’m Doc Mitchell,” he told her, changing the subject. “Welcome to Goodsprings.”

Over the next hour or so, the man had her check herself in the mirror to make sure that nothing had been left “out of place”, helped her to walk around his little shack to make sure that her motor skills were still fine, and placed her through a battery of tests to check that everything – mental and physical – was still ticking along as it should be. While she could understand the purpose of the tests, being taken through them as her head still rang and, much to her dismay (as she realised while sat on Doc Mitchell’s couch, looking at ink blots), doing them all in her underwear, was making her more than a little annoyed. Still, she conceded, the Vit-o-matic Vigor Tester had been a highlight; the Vault had had one and it was curious for her to see how her strength and charisma had increased since their measurement all those years ago, she supposed that dragging overstuffed packs across the wastes and talking her way out of more than her fair share of tight spots had had more of an effect than she’d realised.

She also read as having high luck; she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Of course, she had been shot in the head twice and survived, but then again: _she had been Shot in the Head. Twice._

  
Once the tests were done and the doctor seemed satisfied that her egg hadn’t been completely scrambled by the ordeal, he allowed her a few moments to wander around his home. “Take anything you need,” he’d told her. “You’ll probably need it more than me.” Tommie wasn’t entirely happy; she’d only just managed to stop stumbling as she walked, and while it had eased a little, her head still ached like all hell. But the good doctor had clearly decided that _now_ was the time to send the newly-shot girl out into the world and hope for the best.

 _Well it could be worse_ , Tommie acknowledged. _He could have done it a few days ago_. Still, it would have been nice to have some clothes...

Having “borrowed” a few stimpaks, antivenoms, ammo, and a few low calibre weapons, she walked over to the doctor who was now stood at the door, holding a bundle of items in his arms.

“Here,” he said, he handed over a few stimpaks, some caps and bobby pins, a 9mm, and some ammo. “These are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in.”

“Thank you,” Tommie said; the man shrugged in reply.

“Well, if you’re heading back out there, you ought to have this.” He handed over a Pip-Boy; Tommie felt her insides twist: half excitement, half bittersweet nostalgia.

“They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one.” Tommie nodded.

“I had one too,” she told him. “Someone stole mine, though.”

“Is that so?” Doc asked, frowning. “I always heard that you can’t take one from someone unless you take it from their damn skinny skeleton. That they have to be given willingly.” Tommie offered up a sad smile.

“Well consent’s a funny thing. Let’s leave it at that.” She said. He nodded and gave her an understanding look.

“And put this on, too.” He told her, handing her a laundered vault suit. “So the locals don’t pick on you for lacking modesty. Never was much my style anyway.”

“Thank you,” Tommie said, immediately climbing into the suit. She felt hugely uncomfortable in vault suits; too many bad memories. But it didn’t do to show a lack of gratitude to the man who’d saved her life and let her “borrow” an embarrassingly large number of things – not least a damned Pip-Boy. She’d missed her old one, navigating had been so difficult without it. She almost wasn’t sure whether she felt more grateful for the Pip-Boy or for saving her life.

“Thank you,” she repeated. “For patching me up. For, well, everything.” He seemed a little embarrassed at this and almost seemed to shrug.

“Don’t mention it, it’s what I’m here for,” he said. He told her to go to speak with a girl named Sunny Smiles for some tips on surviving out in the deserts, and suggested as well she speak with the rest of the townsfolk, and the “metal feller” that had dragged her out of her grave. She agreed and thanked him again as she turned to walk out of the door. She stepped out into Goodsprings and behind her, she heard the old man say:

“Try not to get killed anymore.”


	5. The Vault: Useful Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the Vault: Tommie learns how to shoot.
> 
> (As I mentioned before, I'm going to intersperse scenes from Tommie's adventures in the Mojave with those from her past. I want to try to indicate how she became the woman that she is and what informs some of her reasoning & decision-making.)

_10 th January 2278_

 

“Did you know Luke Miller fancies you?”

Tommie looked up at James.

“Yes I do, and we are not having this discussion again.” She was lying, as she so often had done before the world ended, with her head in James’ lap as they both flicked through ancient magazines.

“It’s hilarious,” James said simply, shrugging. “You should have a go. Make his year.” Tommie hit his leg.

“Stop being a dickhead,” she told him. “Anyway, what’s going on with you and Clara?” James shook his head.

“Nothing,” he told her.

“She doesn’t think it’s nothing...”

“We went for _one_ drink!”

“She seems to think it was a date.” Tommie smirked at James who rolled his eyes.

“It was not a date.”

“Consider me told!” Tommie said, raising an eyebrow as she turned a page in her copy of Lad’s Life. This conversation, and variations of it, had already been had several times over the last few weeks or so. Tommie had the feeling that they were circling something that neither would admit to, it almost felt like each was – whether consciously or not – trying to psyche the other up enough to admit that they were, well, _a thing_. Jealousy was a simple enough method to this end, she supposed, _But oh God wouldn’t it be good if we could be bloody adults about this_.

As it was, the dance would continue on for months. They would see other people but always return to one another, yet it seemed like an eternity before Tommie and James would concede that they weren’t “just good friends”.

It had only taken over two hundred years.

Long before that, however, was Cole. Cole was the head of security in the Vault. He had dark eyes, darker hair and, apparently, a thing for defrosted women from the past.

And above all, Cole was _useful_.

Tommie had long since accepted that to the people of Vault 42, she was nothing more than a curiosity. Sure she and James had proved useful mines of information on Pre-War Britain, and had been at least a little useful when it had come to Pre-War America (though there time there had been brief). Along with the three other survivors – one from Japan, the other two from Germany – they had proved useful for the teachers and those interested in history, and were glorious specimens for the scientists that had defrosted them, but now...

Tommie was becoming restless. She didn’t like feeling pointless; she didn’t like that she was essentially now simply something for morale. And now, after overhearing a discussion between Dr Elken and Overseer Parker, she had an unhappy suspicion that those ‘defrostees’ that were able to procreate were considered ripe for breeding with the ‘vaulties’. Tommie supposed it made sense, the vault dwellers must have by now come to the brink of inbreeding – or perhaps had even started to cross that line. Adding some new genetic material to the local pool was the obvious thing to do. And she had a sneaking suspicion that the powers that be wouldn’t be best pleased with the fact that the two youngest in this new group of genetic options seemed, when push came to shove, to only have eyes for one another.

In short, Tommie wanted to leave.

Her usefulness as anything other than a potential incubator was very much in question, and while the overseer seemed so keen for Tommie and her ‘companions in frost’ (as James had once referred to them) to join in the local gene pool, so many people in the vault did not disguise the fact that they still saw them as mere curiosities, almost to the exclusion of seeing them as real people at all. More than once, Tommie had found herself having to bite her tongue; resisting the urge to snap at people was getting more and more difficult with each passing week. But if it was one thing that she knew how to do, it was to keep up the charm. She’d almost always managed to get her way back in the old world, through charm, clever talking, flattery, or outright flirting. Her experiences suggested that not all that much had changed in this regard, even after all these centuries.

But if she were to leave, then she would need to know how to fight.

This is where Cole came in.

Working security in the vault was one of the cushier jobs, there was a lot of down time as so little happened within its walls. And so a lot of the shifts were spent on the training course. Tommie knew that James had asked to try out the course and to maybe learn some new skills, and had all but been laughed out of the room, even after he’d pointed out the shooting skills he’d learned working his summers on his uncle’s farm.

 _Of course, former popsicles aren’t real people_ , Tommie had thought bitterly, rolling her eyes.

Getting on the course was far easier for her, though. She knew Cole had liked the look of her from the off and if nothing else, the whole mysterious defrosted woman with the unusual accent proved an enticement all on its own. It had started easily enough; Cole was a simple man and so Tommie used the more basic tricks in her arsenal: fluttering eyelashes, coy smiles, playing with her hair. Then she asked if she could spend more time with him:

“Oh I could listen to talk about your job all day, Cole! It’s so interesting! That’s how VATS work? How clever!” And finally: “Oh! Could I have a try? Please? I’ll be ever so careful!”

She was sweet, she was charming, she wore skirts when she visited him which were short enough to be suggestive but long enough to make it clear that nothing was being suggested. And crucially: when he let her mess around on the course, and taught her how to use VATS, she found ways to improve without making it clear that she was improving.

The trick was to remain an amusement, she’d realised; the minute they realised she could be dangerous, it would all get taken away.

After a few months of this, Tommie had mastered VATS and had found that she was a crack shot with sights – hitting strange targets on the wooden set.

“You missed his head by over a metre!” Cole had laughed at her, putting his arm around her. She’d giggled and put her hand in front of her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed.

“I’m so bad at this!” she’d trilled as Cole brought her into a hug. He didn’t need to know that she’d aimed for the 6th small tile from the left; the one that she had hit dead on. The hug ended but Cole’s hand remained on the small of her back and had started to make small circles. Tommie frowned inside (on the outside, she gave Cole a bright smile and asked him if he knew what was for dinner that evening). He was getting a bit too touchy-feely; it was probably time to move on before she ended up having to lie back and think of England just to play with some weaponry.

Fortunately, it was around then that Luke had made his affections for Tommie public knowledge after drinking far too much wine at the Christmas party. The worst of it was that he hadn’t even been telling her; he’d been explaining in excruciating – and above all _loud_ – detail to the embarrassed looking Kelly from maintenance, who was looking to everyone watching the exchange with amused grins, with an expression that begged for someone to help her to escape.

Tommie tried not to let her embarrassment show, but hid her face behind her hands and turned to Ella to giggle. It was no small feat, but she was sure that she had managed to pass of embarrassment for her colleague’s moment of all-too-public vulnerability as a moment of blushing and delight at the news that her crush liked her too.

After all, Luke was in charge of scouting for supplies.

 _Very_ useful.


	6. Mojave: Back in the Saddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter, I'm afraid, so I'll be posting something a bit meatier tomorrow (both Vault and Mojave) to make up for it.

_19 th October 2281_

 

“Well that’s a start. But I don’t reckon you came to me to learn how to fight sarsaparilla bottles,” Sunny grinned at her.

“Oh I don’t know,” Tommie replied. “I’ve never come across anything more dangerous than a drinks bottle – after all, everyone knows that glass gets _everywhere_.” Sunny laughed.

“Tell you what. I gotta go chase geckos away from our water supply anyway. Darn critters are attracted to it. Why don’t you come along?”

“Okay, I’m in.” Tommie replied. “But first, I need to make a quick detour.”

...

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to bring the amount down to 100 caps?” Tommie asked; Chet shook his head and folded his arms to drive the message home. Tommie considered him for a moment, he wasn’t a simple enough man that a fluttering of eyelashes would get her her own way, so then what would?

_The man’s a tight-arse; he reckons he’s a shrewd businessman, but he’s mainly, well, an arse. The sort who wouldn’t give you the time of day but would happily sell it to you._

“110 caps,” she suggested. “And when I’m back out on the road, I’ll shout your name every place I go – people will be flocking to Goodsprings when they hear all about its brilliant general store...” Tommie knew it was a bit of a lame line, for all her skill with talking people out of killing her (or others, or one another), she’d always seemed to struggle a little more when it came to money.

 _Dad would hang his head in shame; a daughter who can’t haggle to save her life_.

In spite of her huge misgivings of her attempt to persuade Chet, she made a point of holding her head high while still radiating a slight sense of defeat, trying to suggest to the shopkeeper that he was the one who had won in this transaction, but that he'd be a fool to push any further. After what felt like an eternity, Chet finally spoke up.

“You drive a hard bargain, but that sounds like it could work.” He held out his hand; Tommie shook it. Caps exchanged, and new scope in hand, Tommie walked back outside to Sunny. She watched Tommie fix the scope onto the varmint rifle and whistled.

“You’ve been back in the saddle less than a day and you’re already fixing kit?” She remarked; Tommie shrugged.

“I find rifles awkward in VATS, and I was trained to use them with a scope anyway.” She explained, double checking that she’d fitted the scope properly. Satisfied, she turned to Sunny. “All set?”

...

It had been nice to get the practice – the whole being-covered-in-blood thing, however, had been less so. For the most part, geckos seemed to like Tommie, so she found she hesitated in shooting them. Though it was far easier when confronted with the scene that she had faced towards the end of hers and Sunny’s little excursion. As geckos swarmed the poor Goodsprings local, it was suddenly a lot easier to take the shot; morally, at least. Practically speaking it had been a bit of a pain, and it had taken some concentration not to accidentally hit the woman she had been trying to save.

Sunny had offered to teach her how to make healing powder but Tommie had politely declined; she knew the old tribal recipe and in any case, she preferred to stick to stimpaks and good old-fashioned bed rest where she could. She’d taken healing powder once in a pinch and felt as though her senses had been dulled, she'd found it harder to notice when there were people and creatures nearby, and she was sure that it had made her more likely to miss the shots that she was taking, even when she used VATS to try to land the hit. She could do without such a handicap when she headed out of Goodsprings. Sunny had accepted her refusal with good nature, but had told her to go along to the saloon and introduce herself to Trudy in any case before she headed out of town. Tommie still felt in no grand rush to leave and had hoped to spend another day or so resting up before she headed out onto the road.

She decided her course of action: pop by the saloon, say hello to Trudy, get some information on where she could rest her head for a night. Maybe ask around about the men who had shot her, especially the one in the chequered suit. Tomorrow, she would finally head over to Victor’s shack to thank him for his grave-digging efforts, and then – headache and wooziness pending – she’d head back out onto the road, rifle on her back, and head out to find out exactly what was going on.

She hadn’t bargained on the powder gangers.

* * *

 

_20 th October 2281_

 

It had taken a bit of charm and sweet talking, some medical knowledge, and some information frantically devoured from a copy of Patriot’s Cookbook to get the stuff they’d needed; after that, defeating the convicts proved easy enough. They hadn’t even lost a single townsperson; although Tommie noticed that Easy Pete had been limping a little towards the end. She’d told him to head over to see Doc Mitchell, but she wasn’t sure that he’d listen and so she made a point of telling Trudy as well, hoping that she’d be able to get him up the hill; frog-marching him if necessary.

“You know,” Trudy said after promising she’d get Pete up to the doctor’s house. “If you want anything from the bar there’s a special discount for you after what you’ve done for us.”

“Thanks Trudy, though I’m okay at the moment. Anyway, it was my pleasure. Those no-good raiding bastards got what they deserved.” Trudy watched her a moment.

“You ain’t keen on raiders, I take it?” Tommie pulled a face.

“Is anyone?” She asked. “They’re scum. They kill and they take. They don’t create, farm, work, anything like that; just hurt, take.” She fell silent. A deep frown etched across her face; it took Trudy squeezing her arm to pull her out of it. “Sorry,” Tommie said, a little embarrassed. “I just really don’t like raiders.” Trudy laughed.

“I gathered.”


	7. Vault and Mojave: It Gets Easier

_27 th April 2278_

 

“You just shot that woman dead...” Tommie whispered, her voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears and the sound of the blood rushing around her head. She felt as though she was going to faint. “Luke, you just...” She trailed off and stumbled towards the fallen woman; she clambered over her, reaching a hand under her collar to feel for a pulse in her neck.

There was an awful lot of blood, but no pulse.

Hands clasped around her arms and pulled her up; she didn’t fight, but came up with feet scrambling all the same. When she had finally gained purchase, she felt arms envelop her and a weight on her shoulder as a head came to rest there, nuzzling into her.

“You need to calm down, Tom’.” Luke told her; his tone was soothing but firm. She swallowed, closed her eyes and forced herself to try to regulate her breathing. After the best part of a minute, still trembling, she opened her eyes. Luke still held her in a tight embrace and kissed the top of her head gently. “Are you okay?” He asked her, voice soft. She nodded, not entirely sure of the honesty in her own gesture.

Gently but firmly, Luke broke the embrace and turned Tommie around to face him.

“Yes, I killed her. But I really had no choice.” He paused for the inevitable counterargument, the snapping, the swearing to come – but nothing did. Tommie remained silent, staring at him, with an expression that he had never seen her wear before. Desperate to explain himself, to justify his actions, and to hopefully keep her from falling apart again, he continued.

“I honestly didn’t. That was a _raider_. And raiders aren’t like you and me – they don’t have a code of morals, least not for anyone outside of their groups; they don’t say please or thank you. They’re not like the highwaymen of your time – there’s no ‘money or your life’ with them, they’ll take your money, your life, and even the clothes off your back for the fun of it. If you can sneak past them then you do, otherwise you shoot to kill, every time.” Tommie nodded, not least as she felt it was in some way expected of her. Luke brought her in for another brief embrace before again releasing her. “We need to get moving again,” he told her. “We don’t have much daylight left and I want to get back to the vault while we still have some visibility.” Tommie nodded again and started to gather her things. After a moment, she frowned at Luke, who had started to rifle through the pockets of the dead raider.

“’Your money, your life, and even the clothes off your back’...” she parroted back at him. He looked up from his search at her and shrugged.

“She isn’t going to need it, and besides, I didn’t kill her for her stuff. But she would have killed us for ours. There’s a difference there and you need to remember that.” He stood, walked over to Tommie and threw the stimpaks and bottlecaps that he had just retrieved into her bag, and then kissed her roughly. Instinctively, Tommie drew back, but upon seeing his frown at her refusal she relented and gave him a gentle kiss instead.

“Sorry, darling,” she told him. “I’m still a little shaken up.” She was relieved to see that that seemed to have sufficed as an explanation. After all, Luke was her one link to a life outside of the blasted Vault, it wouldn’t do to upset him; it wasn’t worth the risk. Luke kissed Tommie’s forehead and took her hand.

“Come on, before you have any more hysterics.” Tommie fell into step. After a moment, Luke turned to her. “You’re really going to let me get away with calling you ‘hysterical’?”

Still shaken, Tommie really didn’t want to talk. But Luke was making the effort, which was kind enough of him, and there were far worse things that she had to do these days than chat with an otherwise decent man. If he could make the effort, so too could she.

“You didn’t actually call me hysterical, you said that I’d had hysterics,” she corrected him. “In any case, I’m more concerned with, and indeed offended by, something else that you said.”

“Oh? What was that?” He asked, looking over his Pip-Boy to check the route back to the Vault.

“The ‘Highwaymen of your time’ thing,” she explained. “How bloody old do you think I am?” Luke looked stunned at the question.

“But I thought, I mean, 200 years....” he faltered; Tommie shook her head.

“I can assure you that when I was frozen, that is, when we had the technology to produce _cryo-pods_ , we did not ride around in horse-drawn carriages being stopped by highwaymen proclaiming ‘your money or your life’! Instead, we had _cars_ – you know? Those things that cause a mini Armageddon if you shoot them too many times?”

Luke looked annoyed. “I knew about the cars, Tommie, I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not, darling” she said, soothingly. “I didn’t mean that – I’m just amazed that you thought we had highwaymen in my time. They were very much in the era of the horse and cart.” Luke nodded, his expression softening.

“No overlap?” He asked.

“No overlap,” Tommie confirmed. For good measure, she drew the man in for another kiss, before they set off to clamber from the ruins and head back to the Vault.

 

* * *

 

 

_October 30 th 2281_

 

Tommie was sat cross-legged on the floor of the Bison Steve hotel; miscellaneous items spread out around her, the spoils of her latest endeavour: the all-too belated execution of the convicts that had ruled over Primm until just a few hours before. She was sorting through the items she had retrieved from their corpses, organising small piles of stimpaks, assorted chems, caps, ammo, and even armour and weapons.

Her varmint rifle was laid next to her, rather than slung across her shoulder in its usual place; she’d been sneaking for the last few hours and felt her back deserved something of a rest. Her 9mm lay in her lap, easy to grab if needed, although she had double checked all of the rooms before settling down, and had littered the hallway with traps as well. As she sorted through the spoils, music from the radio on her Pip-Boy accompanying her as she did so, she began to mutter to herself.

“I was out for a bloody week and the whole Mojave has gone all to hell.” She sighed, annoyed. “Bleeding NCR. When you couldn’t organise a piss up in a Brewery why the hell do you think you could run a flipping prison? Let alone one with dynamite! And who the hell thinks it’s a good idea to give murderers and rapists _dynamite_? Christ!”

The echo that bounced back from around the empty, gutted room told her that her volume was getting a little out of hand. Muttering abandoned, she took to scowling and keeping her rants in her head as she began to pack away the things that she had looted. She looked behind her at the bed against which she’d been leaning. It looked all too inviting.

She felt as though she hadn’t slept in years.

Snatching the odd few hours on the road surrounded by as many traps as she dare lay, dozing fitfully, waking in a panic at every sound was starting to get to her. And those were the better nights; the ones without the nightmares, the one where her head didn’t ring like a bell, where she didn’t have to force herself not to scream out in pain. She was idly starting to consider the merits of hiring a mercenary to accompany her, though she would need far more caps for that. She took one last lingering look at the bed before deciding to crash in the local casino for a few hours. Sleeping on something that was actually designed to be slept in was madness without someone on watch.

Sure she might have the best night’s sleep in what felt like a geological age, but then again she might never wake up.

Not worth the risk.

She gathered up her things, slung her rifle over her shoulder again, holstered her 9mm by her hip and headed out along the corridor bound for the Vicky and Vance, carefully collecting her mines and traps as she went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not hugely plot central, but I thought it would be nice to show Tommie in the Wastes when she was still 'green' and freaked out by the amount of violence needed to survive out there, compared with how clearing out the Bison Steve in Primm years later is basically just another job to her - how much she's changed in those intervening year; how much the Wastes have changed her.


	8. The Vault: First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied attempted rape; descriptions of violence (the Wasteland is a shitty place).

_8 th June 2278_

 

The world seemed to crystallise; Tommie stared dumbly at the stars above her. She breathed slowly, deeply, and deliberately. But the sound of her breathing was ragged, betraying her desperation not to cry out, not to panic, and not to let the full horror of what had just happened creep upon her all at once. The corpse was still on top of her, even heavier now than when they had been scrambling in the dirt.

At least his hands were no longer around her neck.

A voice spoke. It seemed to come from hundreds of miles away, perhaps even from another world.

“Shit, Tom’, are you okay?” It was like trying to hear through water. Tommie tried to reply but found she could make no sound; instead, she let her head fall to the side, facing the man who had spoken. “Are you okay?” Luke repeated, kneeling down next Tommie, his face a picture of concern. Tommie managed a small nod.

 _Alive is more or less the same as “okay”_ , she reasoned. Above all, though, she just wanted to be far from here. Far from what she’d done.

“Hey! Well done, beautiful!” Luke smiled at her. “Your first raider! See I knew you had the makings of a damn fine scout!”

Unbidden, the tears came. They fell silently. The weight of the man across her body seemed to crush the air from her all over again and she started to gasp. Luke’s smile fell from his face in an instant and he scrambled to pull the body off of Tommie. With a great heave and grunt of effort, he threw the corpse aside, and crawled back to his partner. Although no longer gasping for air, Tommie was still sobbing silently.

Luke frowned. This was getting ridiculous. The woman was a crack shot, the number of radscorpions and mole rats that she’d taken out was crazy, after two months of ‘wasteland field trips’ (as she’d taken to calling them) she had saved his hide more times than he’d like to count from all manner of animals and bugs. And the less said about the incident with the deathclaw the better. Admittedly it had been, from the look of it, pretty injured already, otherwise he doubted that even the most seasoned wasteland explorer could have one-shot killed the beast even with a damn gauss gun, let alone a sniper rifle. But he’d sat and gawped in awe at her as she’d so calmly fired, had so calmly taken the life of something that had never even existed throughout most of her own life. Hell, when he’d shown her the picture of one that he’d had on his Pip-Boy when they’d first started to date, she’d almost screamed. 

But when it came to humans? Well then it was a whole other ball game. The way she’d reacted when he killed that raider all those weeks ago... well, at least she seemed to have come to understand about that. She no longer freaked out when he'd shot raiders and hostile tribals since, but he’d noticed that she would never raise her gun herself. It was always left to him. And the few times that she had shot (after he’d basically had to shout at her to draw her gun) were the few times when she invariably seemed to miss. Normally, she hardly ever missed.

Still. This time had been different.

Maybe now she’d finally get over this ridiculous aversion to killing humans, especially ones that deserved it. If not, he was going to have to stop sneaking her out here. She was a fine bit of skirt, but not one risking his neck over.

\---

If there’s one thing to focus the mind, it’s a raider, whacked out on psycho, choking the life from you while gleefully shouting in your ear all the unspeakable things he’s going to do to what’s left of you afterwards. Tommie knew that she couldn’t have done anything else, that had she waited for Luke, that she’d be dead.

A small, somewhat traitorous part of herself noted, in the quiet recesses of her mind, that the consequences were the same. If she hadn’t killed him, Luke would have. Or the man would have killed them both, and would have carried on killing others until someone finally killed him. Or until the chems did, at least. 

 _From a utilitarian point of view, I have done the right thing_ , she told herself, trying to anchor her thoughts in her undergraduate education. Anything to drown out the rest of her head which still seemed to scream in panic and terror.  _Admittedly under deontological theories this is a little trickier – but it_ was _in self defence so it probably all evens out..._  She concentrated some more on her breathing. She was vaguely aware of Luke cradling her. Of Luke putting her back down on the ground. Of him moving around the shell of a building in which they had been sheltering and setting mines and traps around them.

 _If you had thought of that rather than your dick when we’d got here I wouldn’t be covered in fucking raider blood_ , Tommie thought, bitterly.  _That's how we ended up so bloody distracted_. 

She knew that Luke was getting impatient, and in some small way she was inclined to give in to him herself - but she also knew that contraceptives were more or less nonexistent these days. If there were any, she had no idea how to get them. The Vault had only had a small non-frozen population to begin with and so procreation was seen as being a strange sort of duty – whether or not that’s what you’d had in mind at the time. Whether or not that’s what you wanted.

Tommie had never really thought about having kids, it had always been something to think about way down the line when her career was ticking over nicely, when she’d settled down, when she was ready. She had always idly assumed that this would be back home in England, in the countryside, probably when she was in her late thirties. Getting knocked up in her early twenties (she mentally omitted the ‘200’ part of her chronological age for the sake of her sanity) in either a vault or a bombed-out, heavily irradiated wasteland did not hold the same kind of appeal.

And getting pregnant by someone that she would have referred to as ‘useful’ rather than ‘soul mate’ didn’t seem all that ideal either. So Tommie had spun Luke a yarn about ‘waiting for marriage’, hoping that he could remain patient. So far, he had. But his patience was waning; that much had been clear that evening before the raiders had descended on them. While Tommie had asked any gods that may or may not have been listening for some kind of interruption, that had not been what she’d had in mind. And now three corpses littered the room around her. One of them, dead by her own hand.

As Luke moved around, securing their camp, Tommie – hoping that her mind was now calm and clear enough to do so – tried to consider how she actually felt about what was happening. Away from by-the-numbers moral theories from now-ancient textbooks, focusing instead on her own feelings, her instincts. After a moment, it dawned on her.

_Relief._

Now that the panic had subsided, now that she was no longer pinned to the ground by a body riddled with bullet holes from her 10mm, all that she felt was relief. Relief that she had survived; regardless of how that had come to pass. Little guilt, no real regret, just relief.

She asked Luke about that later; he said that it was a normal reaction, he grinned at her, and he told her: ‘it’s all downhill from here’. Tommie took that to mean that things would get easier from here on in. Indeed, killing other humans did in fact become easier; at times she found that it could even be as humdrum as some thankless chore. But life overall did not follow in this vein.

Two days later, Tommie and Luke made it back to the vault and were greeted in the main entrance by Overseer Parker. Arms crossed, scowling furiously. She screeched at Luke.

“Who the hell told you that you could take a defrostee into the Wastes!?”


	9. Mojave: The Road to Nipton

_2 nd November 2281_

 

 _Head through Nipton to Novac,_ Beagle had told her.

The man annoyed her no end, from his cowardice at the Bison Steve to his whining once she’d reprogrammed Primm Slim; indeed, it had taken an awful lot of self restraint not to punch him at that point. But a tip-off was a tip-off, and despite his otherwise glaringly clear character flaws, Tommie didn’t consider Beagle to be the lying kind – well, at least not after he’d seen the mess that she had made in the Bison Steve.

A happy beeping made her look up from her Pip-Boy, which she had been using to double-check the route to Nipton.

“You alright, kidda?” She smiled at ED-E floating alongside her. ED-E chirruped again.

The Nashes hadn’t remembered her, which she’d expected – she’d only been working for the Mojave Express for a short while after all – but still Jonathan had told her that she could have his eyebot if she could get it to work. It had taken some effort, a pile of junk, and some frantic revision of repair techniques gleaned from an old magazine, but finally the bot had sprung into life.

It was going to be nice to have a companion again; someone to keep an eye out while she got some sleep was an exciting prospect all on its own. She felt a strange kinship with the machine, riddled with bullet holes, scratches and scars, just like she was, and the bumper stickers on his body reminded her of her pre-war life. ED-E made her smile. She just hoped the little bot could hold his own in a fight.

ED-E was able to prove his skill along the route; first against radscorpions, which he and Tommie dispatched with relative ease, and then against the jackals. ED-E drew their fire and shot his lasers as Tommie sniped off as many as she could with her varmint rifle before throwing herself into the fray, 9mm in hand. The two inside the rest stop proved to be little trouble, meanwhile ED-E dealt with most of the giant mantises in the building.  

When finally out of danger, Tommie stared glumly at the cell at the other end of the rest stop; it was filled with mantises.

“Well, at least it seems like they can’t get out...” She mumbled. An inquiring beep sounded behind her. “Nah, no point,” she replied (putting a great deal of faith in her ability to reckon at what the little eyebot was trying to say). “They’re stuck in there so they’re not a danger – taking them out would probably just be a waste of ammo.” She cast one more thoughtful glance over at the cell before adding: “Still, could you keep an eye on them while I ransack the place?”

ED-E sounded a confirmatory beep and indeed hovered in place, keeping watch, as Tommie gathered what she could from the draws and cabinets around the building.

“Right, sorted.” She told him as she closed a desk draw; ED-E flew over to her. Tommie cast one more almost mournful glance at the cell, specifically at the cot within.

 _Oh well_ , she reasoned. _Nipton should have some beds going._

The few times she’d made deliveries to the town she had found that she’d rather disliked it, the sleaze of the place almost seemed tangible, cloying. Tommie was no prude and held no judgements against the women that plied their trade, nor for the customers that came to them. But something about Nipton always set her teeth on edge.

 _But a town with an inn is a town with an inn_ , she thought. And putting up with a few creeps eyeing her up, and maybe a few glares from some of the working girls as they tried to gauge whether she’d be bad for business, was more than worth it for a good night's sleep in a real bed.

The thought of sleeping on a real mattress occupied most of her headspace for much of the walk, only allowing room for more urgent concerns if she thought she’d spotted an enemy nearby. She was so caught up in her daydream of a comfortable, undisturbed sleep that she barely even registered the plumes of smoke until she was almost at the town gate.

There was a man there, rushing around, yelling, whooping. On seeing his Powder Ganger uniform, Tommie instinctively raised her pistol – but he made no move to aggression against her, and so she lowered the gun and let him speak.

She frowned as she tried to make sense of his ramblings.

_He’s won a lottery? What the hell kind of lotteries still exist these days?_

And then she watched as he ran down the hill into what Tommie was pretty sure was radscorpion territory. A thought occurred to her.

“ED-E, I don’t think I saw a gun on him... Do you think he has one?” ED-E beeped; the beep sounded doubtful. Tommie shrugged and allowed herself one more slightly worried glance over at the 'lottery winner' before heading up and into the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short-ish chapter this time: my write up of Nipton ran a bit long, so I've split it a little.


	10. The Vault: Valuable

_10 th June 2278_

 

 Tommie had always prided herself on her ability to talk her way out of a tight spot; she’d always considered it her strongest skill. She could debate with the best of them, her trophies and awards told her that, and her father had always joked that she could charm the birds from the trees, but it was getting away things that had always been her forte. At least, until now.

Tommie watched absently as the Overseer paced around her office, still griping on at her and Luke. It had been an hour since they had arrived back; Tommie was feeling uncomfortable in her armour and was vaguely aware that she had probably started to smell. She had stopped listening to Parker’s tirade almost 20 minutes before; the woman just repeated herself without any regard for the opposing arguments put to her. Tommie had wondered how the hell the woman had been elected to the position... and then had glumly remembered some of the politicians that had ruled both in America and back home.

Luke had really tried to fight Tommie’s corner, which had touched her (she had done her level best to ignore the more cynical part of her which noted that he would also save his own skin if he could convince the overseer that this had always been a great idea for the benefit of the vault, rather than being the folly of some horny 29-year-old trying to impress the girl he liked). He had explained about her exceptional sniping skills, her ability with VATS, and the fact that she’d proved a better scouting partner than any of those that he had worked with before.

Tommie had been relieved that Parker didn’t ask where Tommie had learned VATS; she didn’t want Cole dragged into this as well. She seemed to be making enough people unhappy around here of late without adding more names to the list.

Luke’s clear and reasoned explanations were being parried with words like “valuable” and “irreplaceable” and phrases such as “the future of the vault”.  Tommie rolled her eyes, not caring whether or not she was spotted.

_It all comes down to bloody babies. Of course it does._

No matter whether or not Tommie was interested in having children, ever since she’d stabilised after coming out of that godforsaken cryo-pod, there had been bullshit about babies. Hell, one of the first tests that they did once they were sure she was strong enough leave the ward was to check her likely fertility. And so it came down to this: Tommie might possibly produce some babies which would be less inbred than those birthed by the other vaulties, and therefore she could not leave the vault.

 _Fabulous_ , she thought glumly.

Parker’s ranting went on for another 40 minutes; even Luke gave up trying to get a word in edgeways and was slumped back in his chair, his eyes glazed over. Tommie was wondering what would be for dinner.

Finally they were dismissed; Tommie rose up from her chair without a word and without looking at either Parker or Luke. The latter caught up to her half way down the corridor towards the canteen.

“Are you okay?” He asked her.

“Not really, but I’ll live,” she sighed. “It will be a life filled with lots of boredom and sitting, but I’ll _live_.” She all but spat the word.

“She just wants you to be safe.”

“I know that; I was there for the whole, feature-length rant.”

“And I can see where she’s coming from-” Luke started; trailing off abruptly as Tommie stopped in her tracks next to him.

“For the love of God, Luke, don’t give me that shit,” she snapped. “Other vaulties get to have wombs _and_ adventures; Christ, even Ella got to go above ground when you lot thought you needed an expert to retrieve a fusion core.”

“Other vaulties aren’t you,” he countered. “I can see where Parker’s coming from because we really do need fresh DNA in the gene pool.” Tommie rolled her eyes and resisted the temptation to bang her head against the wall.

“I knew I should have rolled around in that glowing puddle we found,” she muttered. “Anyway, if you care so much, why the hell did you let me go out there?” Luke’s expression changed; he looked sheepish. That is, as sheepish as a man covered in armour, tooled up with rifles and pistols, and hair matted with other people's blood could look.

“You know why,” he said quietly. Tommie closed her eyes and took a breath; that had been a stupid question to ask, she knew that. The heat of the moment had gotten to her. Of course she knew why he had been happy enough to take her around the Wastes, despite his obvious misgivings about the enterprise from the start. She’d been working hard to ensure that that reason was upheld so that he wouldn’t have cause to change his mind. Now she just hoped that he would leave it at that.

“You wanted to go out there so much and experience it,” he continued.

 _Oh shit_.

“And I wanted to make you happy...” He looked at her. “Did I make you happy?” He added; the question came in hushed tones, as though he was frightened she would hear him ask it.

Tommie stared at him, unsure as to how to answer. She was completely banned from leaving the vault, and as Luke would now be signed in and out and checked both ways to prevent any more adventuring on her part, then he could be considered to have outlived his usefulness to her. But he was also a kind man, he was smart, he was even funny at times. He had kept her safe and taught her how to survive. Sure he had had an ulterior motive in taking her into the Wastes, and in doing all that she had asked, but she couldn’t consider herself innocent in that regard in any instance. If he could have been said to have used her in some way then he had done so to a lesser degree than in the way that she had used him. Not for the first time, Tommie felt guilt twist at her insides at how she had treated Luke.

He looked at her expectantly. Unsure how to respond, Tommie grabbed at the leathers across his chest and pulled him into a kiss. He returned it hungrily, drawing her into a tight embrace. It was the first time that she had kissed him in the vault. They hadn’t made their... ‘ _whatever this is’_ public – Tommie had told him that keeping quiet would make it less likely that their excursions would be found out.

In truth, she just didn’t want James to know.

Which was stupid; Tommie and James made a point of never discussing who they were seeing with one another – but thanks to a slip from Ella, she knew that he had just started seeing one of the girls that worked in food production. So what did it matter if he knew? Hell, what did _anything_ matter anymore? If her job was apparently to sit around remember crap from before the war and occasionally pop out vault sprogs then she might as well enjoy it. Luke backed her into the wall, his kisses becoming more and more desperate. He only broke away from her when they heard the laugh.

“Ha! Luke you old dog I knew you were keeping something from me!” Tommie recognised the voice as belonging to Marco from engineering. She opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows at him to try to cover the embarrassment she felt. The sound of footsteps signalled people scattering in from the canteen – entertainment being in such short supply in the vault that Marco’s joyous outburst ranked in the same league as the movie announcements of Tommie’s time. She was more than a little conscious of how close Luke was to her, that one of his hands were gripping her waist, the other her hip, as people rushed into the corridor to see what the fuss was about.

And her heart fell into her stomach as she saw that James was amongst them.

He looked crestfallen, and Tommie couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. A picture of devastation.

_Oh, so maybe it does matter after all..._

 


	11. Mojave: The Fires of Nipton

_2 nd November 2281_

The heat hit her as she walked through Nipton, the towering fires combined with the mid-afternoon sun made her feel as though she was cooking underneath the simple leather armour that Chet had given her in advance of the fight against Powder Gangers.

Tommie vaguely acknowledged that November 5th was fast approaching as she stared up at the flames. It was only when she turned the corner to walk up to the town hall, when she saw the crucifixes lining the road, that some small stunned part of her remembered that Americans didn’t celebrate bonfire night.

Instinctively, she drew her weapon. As she walked up the road and, away from the choking smoke, the smell of death finally hit her with full force. Her stomach turned, partly in revulsion but mainly in dread. The smoke, the stench, the fear... her head began to ache.

Finally, she tore her horrified gaze from the dying men on crosses and to the armoured men on the steps of the town hall. They seemed to be watching her with some interest.

 _Well,_ she thought, trying desperately to keep herself calm. _No one has started shooting yet..._ She drank in as much information as she could. Forcing herself to break through her fog of terror that had been clouding her mind, she now saw the flags properly, and saw the bull. _This was a Legion job..._ The crimson and black uniforms that those on the steps wore: _So these will be Legion soldiers, then._

Tommie had been lucky enough not to have had many dealings with the Legion; she had crossed through their lands before, but always as part of a caravan. The Legion kept the roads clean, clear of raiders. They didn’t bother the caravans, so they’d never bothered her. Though some of the stories that she had heard...

Her train of thought trailed off. There was movement ahead; many of the men were rushing ahead and fanning out, surrounding her. One man didn’t run, however, instead he strode purposefully towards her. Much of his face was covered by a dog's head helm and dark glasses, but Tommie noted his high cheekbones and thin mouth.

“Don’t worry. I won’t have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates,” he drawled. “It's useful that you happened by.” Tommie noticed that his thin lips seemed close to betraying a smile. “I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton,” he continued, “to memorize every detail. And then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caesar's Legion taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across.” He fell silent and seemed to be expecting her to say something.

Tommie was acutely aware of the men surrounding her, of the fact that they were all armed. She knew that legionaries were well trained, clean-living (of chems and alcohol, that is, _Some of the stories you hear..._ ). She was acutely aware of her 9mm, which suddenly felt a painfully flimsy option, and of her leather armour, which was getting dangerously close to falling apart. The headache was getting worse.

 _Fighting’s not an option_ , she noted. _Time to play nice._

She drew herself up to her full height, her head raised high. “And what lessons were these?” She asked politely, fighting to keep her voice level and light. “I want to make sure I get this right, of course.” He was definitely smiling now.

“Of course,” he agreed. “As for the lessons... Where to begin? That they are weak, and we are strong? This much was known already. But the depths of their moral sickness, their dissolution? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson.” He explained at length about why Nipton had been chosen – _‘a town of whores’_ he had called it – and did not hide his pride as he explained the lottery about which the Powder Ganger at the gate had been so excited. He explained how he and his men gave each person a ticket, about how no one had even lifted a finger to help those they’d claimed to love, just as long as there was a chance that they themselves would survive. Tommie felt her blood run cold at his words.

_You hear these stories..._

At the end of his explanation, he watched her again; Tommie realised that he was expecting her to speak. _He wants to gauge my reaction to his shit show..._ Her head was ringing now and she felt sick. _Don’t fuck this up, Tommie_ , she thought to herself. She gave him a small smile – praying to whatever god might have been listening that it looked far more sincere than it felt – and replied.

“I admire the purity of the Legion’s justice,” she said. For a moment she feared that the lie had sounded as false on her tongue as it had in her head, but then the man responded.

“It has a stark beauty, doesn't it?” He said thoughtfully. “I'm glad you can appreciate it.” He paused for a moment; he seemed to be appraising her, but without being able to see his eyes Tommie couldn’t be sure. After what felt like an eternity, he continued. “Now go,” he told her, “and teach others what you learned here. The Mojave Outpost isn’t far from here; that will suffice.” He gestured to his men, who had been surrounding her; they ran back to him and followed as he began to walk away. After a few moments, the man turned back to her. “There will be more lessons in the days ahead,” he said, apparently as an afterthought. “Vale”.

Tommie watched them leave. She held her poise for as long as she could; when the men were finally far enough away for her to feel safe enough to do so, she let her shoulders drop. Her knees threatened to give way beneath her and she could feel bile rising in her throat.

ED-E beeped at her, concerned.

“I’m okay,” she croaked. “Fucking hell...” She looked up once more; the men were now completely gone from view. She sat herself down on the ground for a while, until she had stopped shaking and the pounding in her skull had subsided into a dull ache. Finally, when she felt strong enough, she let out a large sigh and took to her feet.

“Well,” she said, stretching a little. “It looks like we’re making a detour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this bit :)


	12. The Vault: Two Hundred Years in the Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommie and James finally get their shit together. \o/

_16 th June 2278_

 

It was the longest that Tommie and James had ever gone without speaking since they had first met at Heathrow airport, introduced by their recruiter, as they prepared to travel to New York for their new jobs as junior assistants (to a bloke who was himself a junior assistant to someone of _actual importance)_ in the skeleton staff that the British government still retained in America.

Tommie had been planning to sleep on the flight over, instead she’d chatted endlessly with her handsome new co-worker. The man with the messy blond hair, the cheeky grin, and the piercing pale blue eyes.

And now... now he was suddenly conspicuously absent. Ever since the moment when what seemed like half the damn vault had seen her kissing Luke, James seemed to have been avoiding her. At the time she’d been indignant.  _If he can cop off with that ridiculous girl from food production then I can damn well kiss the lead scout_ , she’d thought bitterly. But now the anger had gone and she was left with a hollow feeling, the strangest sensation, as though she had lost a limb.

“I miss James,” Tommie mumbled miserably into her pillow. Ella, who'd had the presence of mind to bring snack cakes and Nuka back to the dorm, sighed at the other end of Tommie’s bed, where she was sat flicking through a copy of _Picket Fences_.

“You’ve said. Several hundred times...” She remarked, not looking up from her magazine.

“Why won’t he talk to me?” Tommie whined; Ella shrugged.

“My guess is he feels betrayed,” she told her, finally looking up at her friend. Tommie looked up from the pillow, wearing an expression of pained confusion.

“Why?! He’s the one going out with that girl from food production!”

“Okay that’s a fair point,” Ella conceded. “But as I have explained now at least seventeen times, he didn’t make out with her in front of the damn vault.” Tommie sat up and glared at Ella.

“First of all, it was not in front of the whole vault – no one was there when we started kissing, and second of all: so what?! He’s seeing someone! Why does he care what I do?” Ella’s mouth betrayed a small smirk. “ _Now_ what’s funny?” Tommie moaned.

“Not much, only, well... he’s _not_ seeing someone” Ella’s face broke into a grin; Tommie frowned.

“Hang on, you said-” Ella waved a hand irritably.

“Yes well at the time he was seeing someone, but I hear this morning that he dumped her the other day.” Tommie raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?” She asked.

“Seriously,” Ella confirmed.

“And what the hell does that mean, then?” Ella shrugged.

“No idea, could be nothing, could be a coincidence... or it could be that something has made him realise that she’s not the one that he wants to be with. Maybe seeing the girl he likes making out with someone else made him second guess himself.” Tommie’s heart felt as though it had lightened by the best part of a ton at hearing that, but it did also feel too good to be true.

Then again, they’d danced around the matter for what felt like an eternity.  _At least two hundred years..._ Was it so out of the realms of possibility that he really did feel the same?

“Which do you think? The coincidence, or the whole ‘being in love with someone else’ thing?” Tommie asked, trying to keep her voice level.

“I have my theories,” Ella told her with a smirk. “But you’re better off asking him yourself.” Tommie threw herself back down onto the pillow with a sigh.

“Yes, but that would involve finding a way to get him to stay in one place long enough for me to actually talk to him. I’ve not even been able to get a “hi” out before he’s scarpered!” Ella opened the box of snack cakes, threw one over to Tommie, who caught it deftly, and then popped her own into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before she replied, spraying crumbs.

“I think we can arrange something.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Tommie didn’t need the dining chair, the four metres of rope, or the trail of gumdrops that Ella had insisted that they organise. Instead, the pair soon found James in the otherwise deserted library, sat on a comfortable chair and reading a surgical journal.

“Hey-” he started, but Tommie cut across him.

“For the love of God don’t rush off this time!” She said hurriedly. “We need to have this out.” James raised his eyebrows.

“And I always took you to be the voice of reason out of the two of us,” he said, grinning at her. “Seriously though, I’m not going anywhere. And yes, we do need to chat.” He closed his book and gestured to an armchair next to him. As Tommie sat down in the proffered seat, Ella pulled up a nearby desk chair. Tommie and James turned to stare at her; it took a moment for the hint to land.

“I’ll, um, see if I’m needed in... um... anywhere,” Ella mumbled, bumbling out of the room (although Tommie could see her giving her the thumbs up from the doorway before the mechanism finally closed behind her). She turned to James.

“Right,” she said.

“Right,” he agreed.

The silence hung in the air between them; it was deafening. James started tugging at his hair and Tommie found herself watching him.

All at once, she realised she had to do something. This man, who tugged his hair when he was worried or nervous, who gave her lopsided grins, who teased her relentlessly, who made her laugh as no one had ever done before, who made her feel – wherever she was, in the world, or in time – that she was okay as long as he was with her. This man was who she wanted.

Even living a ditchwater-dull existence trapped in vault 42 sounded marginally more bearable as long as he was there by her side.

She decided to go for broke.

“So do you actually want to be with me? As in, _actually_ be with me? Be a couple?” She rambled; internally she rolled her eyes at how ridiculous she was being, but this had never been her strong suit. Men had always been entertainment, like the lads she’d dated through university, or useful, like Cole and Luke (and indeed one or two of the men from university).

This was the first time, she realised, that she had wanted to really belong to someone. That she loved someone.

That she loved him.

James considered her carefully.  
“Okay, two questions,” he began. “First, what has happened to my rational, articulate girl?” Tommie gave him a pained expression.

“She’s really shit at this sort of thing,” she replied. “Next question?” Again, James stared at her. The quiet between them lasted less than a minute, but it seemed to stretch out for days. 

“Let me answer your question with another question: do _you_ want to be with _me_?”

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper, but the conviction and certainty behind it took even James back. For a moment, nothing happened. Then finally, James’ face broke into a broad grin.

“I think that means we’re a thing then!” He proclaimed happily.

“Does it?” Tommie asked, taken aback.

“What, you expecting a fucking ceremony or something?” James teased, kicking Tommie’s armchair.

“Oh a _fucking_ ceremony? Now that does sound fun!” She smirked in reply; James laughed. Still smiling his crooked smile at her, his pale blue eyes twinkling, he stood up and held out his hand to her.

“That could probably be arranged.” He winked. Tommie took his hand and stood up. It felt as though the world held its breath as she and James paused a moment, hesitant, staring at one another. Until finally, his hands on her hips, hers around his neck, they drew in for a kiss.

This had not been the first time that they had kissed. Nor was the frantic fumble that they went on to have in the corner of the library – giddy with joy, lust, and nerves in case someone walked in – the first time that they had slept together. They had done all of this before, back above ground before the bombs had dropped. But it all felt so different this time around.

And not just because the world had ended in the meantime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Nipton was really fun to write, this bit: less so.  
> I'm not great at mushy stuff (as my long-suffering fiance will attest to) - I ended up basing the conversation between Tommie and James in the library on the conversation that my fella and I had when we decided that we were an item. It really was that blunt and awkward.
> 
> Back to the Mojave next time to make up for what I worry might be a slightly clumsy chapter :3 (Sorry!)


	13. Mojave: No Vacancies

_3 rd – 5th November 2281_

  
As expected, the personnel at the Mojave Outpost had not been happy to hear about Nipton’s fate. Some thanked Tommie for telling them, more of them paled in horror at the news, the blood draining from their faces, and some seemed to eye her with suspicion, even hatred.

 _Christ, talk about shooting the messenger..._ , she had thought as she slammed back some vodka at the bar.

She’d chatted contentedly to the woman who was propping it up at the other side for a while before retiring to the barracks. The woman was a caravaneer without a caravan, trapped at the outpost while waiting for the roads to clear. They’d laughed about past exploits, swapped road stories, and drunk the night away (to a point: Tommie had rather wisely avoided trying to match the woman drink-for-drink).

The next day, feeling well-rested from a full night's sleep (although also feeling as though something had crawled into her mouth and died), Tommie took care of some extermination work to try to help out the ranger in charge (and perhaps persuade those that seemed to have taken poorly to her that she wasn’t so bad). Finally, once payment had been settled, she said her goodbyes to the woman propping up the bar and finally headed towards Novac.

The road to the small town was long and littered with inconveniences and curiosities in equal measure. She and ED-E dealt with some Vipers without much trouble, but her interest was piqued when she noticed lasers illuminating the road around half a mile ahead.

Whatever had happened was over by the time she and the eyebot arrived. Corpses littered the road; Brahmin, mercenaries, a trader and – _Oh dear..._ – some legionaries.

 _They really are getting their foot in the door..._ Tommie thought to herself as she picked over the body, pocketing the strange coins she found on the recruit.

Novac wasn’t quite what she had expected, but finding the sign that betrayed the origin of its name made her laugh. She was surprised to find Victor there, and chatted with him briefly before heading off to find the man who could point her in the right direction to find the man who had shot her.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry; you want me to do _what_?” Tommie frowned at the sniper.

“All I’m saying is that if I didn’t have to spend so much time sniping ferals then I might have more energy to remember where your assailant was headed to.” Manny shrugged, taking a long draw on his cigarette. Tommie watched him for a moment.

“What about the other guy?” She asked. “The other sniper?”

“What about him?” Manny replied, confused.

“Does _he_ know anything about this ‘Benny’ fellow?” Manny frowned at her.

“No, he doesn’t” came the simple reply. Tommie shrugged.

“Well, maybe I’ll pop up. Have a word with him and see what he has to say.”

“Be my guest,” Manny said, flicking the end of his cigarette out of the mouth of the dinosaur. “I’ll tell you now, though – Boone doesn’t know anything about the man you’re after.”

“We’ll see,” she replied. “And I’ll let you know about the ghoul thing,” she added as she was halfway out the door. As annoying as she found Manny, it didn’t do to leave a small town to the mercy of feral ghouls – if they were to attack en masse then Novac’s protectors would have roughly the chances of a chocolate fireguard.

But then again, she didn’t want to deal with the ghouls alone, even with ED-E as support. Ghouls were fast, difficult to snipe, and scary in close quarters. Even if this Boone bloke really did have no idea about the man that had shot her, perhaps he’d be willing to help her to get rid of the ghouls that were giving his town so much grief.

 _Chances are he can be persuaded_ , Tommie reasoned. She’d gotten the impression – although why she couldn’t quite pin down - that Manny wasn’t interested in women to begin with, let alone interested in her. And in any case: he’d annoyed her. Boone might be similarly inclined, she conceded, or taken, or just plain uninterested. _But maybe he’ll at least have some work going – a favour for a favour..._

She walked down through the dinosaur, nodding politely at Cliff Briscoe as she passed. The day was already fading fast. Manny had told her that Boone started his shift at around 9pm; Tommie’s Pip-Boy told her it was already half-past eight. She toyed with the idea of knocking on the man’s room in the motel building, but decided against it ; he probably needed his sleep. Instead she made herself comfortable against the wall of one of the nearby bungalows and figured that she would wait out the half-hour by watching the clouds go overhead and listening to Mr New Vegas’ soothing voice ring out from her Pip-Boy radio.

At 11:32pm, Tommie awoke with a start.

 _For heaven’s sake..._ unsteadily she got to her feet. _Maybe that vodka got to me more than I’d realised._ She noted that the lights were on in Manny’s room, while Boone’s windows remained dark.

 _Must be on shift, then_ , she reasoned, and headed up the steps and into the dinosaur.


	14. The Vault: Breeding Stock

_22 nd August 2278_

The months that followed from that conversation in the deserted library passed by in a happy blur. Tommie and James kept their relationship hidden as best they could, with only Ella aware that the two were more than just friends. They made do with stolen kisses, whisperings, and frantic trysts when they were certain that they could do so without being noticed.

It was exhausting, but it was worth it. Despite the world they now found themselves in, neither James nor Tommie could say with all honesty that they had ever been happier.

But then things began to slip. So emboldened by their ability to keep their relationship a secret for so long, they became almost cavalier. Bite marks and scratches on both their bodies served as evidence that something was going on, even if the other vault dwellers couldn’t put their fingers on what (or who) exactly it was. The pair had always been close, that was no secret but before long, rumours began to find their way around the Vault, putting two and two together. They noted that James had stopped seeing Lila in food production two months before, and that Tommie had barely said two words to Luke since the day that she had been banned from leaving the Vault.

None of this had escaped the attentions of the Overseer, either. Troubled, she put measures in place to ensure that they were watched. Within less than a week, they had been caught, half-naked, on the floor of the kitchens in the small hours of the morning.

Less than half an hour later, Tommie – hair still askew – and James were stood in the Overseer’s office, wearing an expression of mixed amusement and embarrassment.  
“We’re sorry, we should not have sha-” James caught himself and cleared his throat. “That is, we should not have _done what we did_ on the kitchen floor.”

“We recognise now that that was foolish, unhygienic, and carried the risk of offending people that may have found us.” Tommie agreed.

“People like Cole, for instance,” James supplied. Tommie cast him a sidelong glance; that it had been Cole that had found them had been particularly embarrassing for her, but James’ slight jealous streak had revelled in it. Even now, Tommie could see the slight smirk that played on his lips. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Or anyone at all,” Tommie said, trying to downplay James’ contribution. “It really was foolish of us and it won’t happen again.”

Overseer Parker watched them, eyes narrowed.

“No, it won’t,” the woman agreed. “Because from now on, you will both be kept separate.”

Tommie was sure she felt her heart stop, the colour drain from her face.

“I- I’m sorry?” She stammered. Parker looked impassively at her.

“You heard me: you and Mr Sanderson will be kept separate from here on in. If we have to organise a secondary security team for that very purpose then we will.”

“You’re fucking kidding me?” James spluttered. “How long for?”

Parker turned her gaze to him.

“You misunderstand me, Mr Sanderson. This will not be a temporary arrangement, at least not in the short term.”

Tommie and James both stared at the woman in disbelief. Tommie’s mouth was agape; James found that he was grating his teeth. Finally, Tommie broke the silence.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why are you doing this?” Tommie asked, her voice almost a whisper. “I haven’t left the Vault – I’ve done what you said, I’ve kept my head down and been good and not started arguments with anyone... Why are you doing this to me? To _us_?”

Parker gave her a sympathetic look.

“Ms Crossley-Booth, you don’t seem to understand. This isn’t about you, this is about the good of the Vault,” she replied.

“What? How is this about the good of the Vault?” James snapped. “Okay we were fucking in the kitchen, but how does that affect the goddamn Vault? We were going to disinfect the area afterwards...” 

Parker rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

“Mister Sanderson, this isn’t about _where_ you were... having relations, rather it is about with _whom_.”

Tommie shook her head.

“Wait, hang on. I thought you wanted me to sit around popping out babies?” She said, frowning. “So surely this is all to the good for you?”

“It is true that I wish for you to provide the Vault with fresh genetic material,” Parker conceded. “Both of you, in fact. And herein lies the problem with this-” she waved her hands vaguely “- _coupling_.”

Tommie and James frowned at her in confusion for a moment, until finally the penny dropped.

“If we have kids with each other, you have to wait a generation to get one lot of new genetic material,” James said quietly, realisation dawning. “But if we have kids with other vault dwellers now, then you get two lots of new material straight off the bat.”

Parker leaned back into her chair with a satisfied smile on her face. Tommie felt as though she was going to be sick.

“I’m so glad that you can understand, Mr Sanderson.” Parker said, her voice sickly sweet. “And I’m happy that such intelligence will be brought into my Vault for generations to come.”

Tommie stared at the woman.

“You sick bitch,” was all that she could bring herself to say. “We’re people, not fucking breeding stock.”

Parker’s smile fell; she stood up from her seat and walked lazily around the desk and towards the couple.

“You are not living in the heady care-free days of your youth, Ms Crossley-Booth” she snapped. “The world has ended and now we live for the greater good, to ensure survival. This vault needs new genetic material to survive, and that is what you and Mr Sanderson can provide for us.”

“But what about Freidrich Lehmann?” James asked, thinking hurriedly of some of those that had survived the cryo-pods with them. “Hell, Fukimo Araki must still be able to have one or two before the menopause kicks in.”

“For heaven’s sake, Mister Sanderson,” Parker snapped. “We need all the new material that we can get. If it weren’t for the cryo-pods we’d probably be dragging in irradiated wastelanders in the hope that one had enough fertility left to provide at least one new addition. Your emergence from the pods was a damn miracle – we need new genetic material, you have it. And however much you’d both like to pout and to get your own way, you two are the only ones causing a problem here. Ms Araki grieves her husband, but is close to Mr Derricksen from maintenance. And I get the impression that Mr Lehmann feels that all his Christmases have come at once given how interesting he has suddenly become to women hoping he’ll give them a child without any risk of inbreeding. _You are the only two causing a problem_.”

She glared at them for a moment; in response, Tommie instinctively bunched her hands into fists. Rage coursed through her and tears stung her eyes. Tears of anger at the unfairness of it all, but also of fear at the thought of being separated from the one person she’d ever cared for, ever loved. 

Parker noticed the tears too; her expression softened and she sighed.

“Look,” Parker said. “I don’t want to be unreasonable, and you need to understand the strain I’m under here. It’s just that we need this genetic material and we need it now. I’m not a monster; I realise and understand that you can’t help who you fall in love with. That’s why what I’m ordering today – the separation – won’t be permanent.”

Tommie held her breath, almost afraid to hope.

“Once you have both produced at least two children each,” Parker continued; Tommie exhaled.

_Of fucking course..._

“Then you will be free to recommence your relationship where you left off,” she finished. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response from either of them, the Overseer gestured to the guards.

They were permitted one final kiss. Tommie longed for it to drag out to the end of her days, their lips meeting desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks. But all too soon, they were pulled apart.

“I love you,” James told her as Cole and one of his subordinates led him away.

“I love you too,” Tommie croaked in reply, her voice choked by the sobs that she was barely able to hold back. She just hoped that he could hear her over the grinding of the door mechanisms as it closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible to my characters; I'm sorry :(


	15. Mojave: One for My Baby

_6 th November 2281 _

  
  
“Just call me detective Sanderson,” Tommie mumbled to herself as she fiddled with the lock on the safe. She sighed, annoyed, as yet another bobby pin snapped in her hand.

 _I really need to get better at this_.

Finally, she heard the satisfying click that she had so desperately been trying to find, and the safe door opened. She noted the other more valuable contents, but for the most part ignored them – instead grabbing at the documents within. In hardly any time at all, she found what she was looking for.

 _That nasty little bitch_ , Tommie frowned. Jeannie May Crawford had rubbed Tommie up the wrong way from the moment she’d arrived in Novac – she hadn’t done or said anything that had offended her, but something about the seemingly meek and inoffensive little woman put Tommie on edge. And when a strange comment from No-Bark had led her to the office of the Dino Dee-Lite Motel, part of her wasn't even that surprised.

Tommie pocketed the document – a bill of sale to Crawford from the Legion for the sale of Boone’s wife and (her heart had sunk to read it) their unborn child - and, after a brief pause, picked up the caps in the safe as well. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn't as though the woman would need them after tonight.

Tommie ambled over to the houses behind the motel and knocked on the door of the house that she’d noticed Crawford retire to earlier that night. After a few moments, the woman herself emerged, looking dishevelled in an ancient nightshirt.

“Goodness, this is a little late for a social call,” the woman trilled. Tommie had to work hard to keep her face impassive, almost pleasant. The woman already grated on her nerves even without the knowledge that she had sold another human being like a damn brahmin. “I do hope that nothing is wrong?”

Tommie gave the woman a look which was all innocence and concern.

“Ms Crawford, I’m so sorry to bother you at this late hour,” she said – the very picture of politeness. “I just need you to come with me a moment – there’s something over by the dinosaur which needs your attention.”

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ She chided herself. She had been so caught up in finding who had sold Boone’s wife into slavery that it hadn’t occurred to her how she would then lead the perpetrator into the path of Boone’s bullet.

“Is that so?” Crawford asked. “I’ll just get something warm to wear.” The woman retreated into her house; Tommie’s hand instinctively went to her hip, hovering over her holster. To her surprise, the woman did indeed return with a shawl. She didn’t seem to have picked up a weapon or anything.

 _Amazing..._ Tommie thought, stunned. _How can someone live in the bloody Mojave Wasteland and be so trusting?_ But conscious of looking a gift horse in the mouth, she simply smiled at the woman and gestured towards the dinosaur.

“Shall we?”

The woman fell into step with Tommie as they walked up the road.

“So what is it that you need to show me, exactly?” She asked. Tommie frowned.

“It’s...well...” she faltered. “To be honest with you, Ms Crawford, it’s easier to show you. I’ve never been very good with words.”

“Call me Jeannie May, please” the woman replied, smiling brightly at Tommie. She returned the smile, hoping that it didn’t look as false as it felt. Finally, they reached the spot that Boone had indicated. “Now what was it that you wanted to show me?” Crawford asked. Tommie reached into her pack and pulled on the beret that Boone had given her for this task. She gave Crawford a winning smile.

“I just wanted to know what you thought of this lovely hat that my new friend has given me,” she said brightly.

Realisation seemed to hit the woman like a freight train, her eyes filled with terror.

A second after that, her expression betrayed nothing – at least not to someone without the time to complete a particularly complicated, and above all visceral jigsaw.


	16. The Vault: Deliberately Difficult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is written from the POV of the Overseer of Vault 42; I thought it would be neat to get a look inside her head. My reasoning is that Overseer Parker isn't exactly evil _per se_ , but that she has totally fsking lost it and doesn't realise just how awful the stuff she's doing really is. She's just obsessed with getting this breeding thing sorted for the Vault asap.
> 
> Also, Tommie's just bloody well had enough of this not-seeing-James nonsense. 
> 
> TW: implied attempted rape (towards the end).

_10 th October 2278_

 

Ms Crossley-Booth was causing problems for the Vault. This is how Overseer Parker perceived the situation in any case.

First came the hunger strike, which had started immediately after she had been separated from Mr Sanderson. Her friend Ms Bellhouse had tried to explain to the Overseer that this was in fact a traumatic reaction in light of a perceived loss, a kind of grieving, but the Overseer dismissed this explanation. She recognised purposefully difficult behaviour when she saw it.

When the hunger strike had run its course and the woman finally started to eat again, Overseer Parker had hoped that that would be the end of that. But then Ms Crossley-Booth had started to search for means of getting to her former lover. At one instance, she had succeeded, and the pair had had to be wrenched apart when they were finally discovered. But while Mr Sanderson had been led away, his head hanging, tears falling to the floor, Ms Crossley-Booth had had to be dragged bodily, kicking and screaming. In the end, she had been sedated.

She was under sedation now, lying limply in the same hospital bed in which she had woken almost a year before.

The Overseer noted that Mr Sanderson was also exhibiting strange behaviour: he was eating little and sleeping a lot. But she reasoned that this would pass and that he would soon enough accept that he would need to do his part for the future of the Vault.

She also rather hoped that Ms Crossley-Booth would also come to this conclusion, but in truth she felt that this was becoming doubtful. More than that, Overseer Parker was getting tired: Ms Crossley-Booth’s last escapade had caused damage to the Vault and to some of the security staff.

The Overseer was running out of patience.

It was at this juncture that she had decided that a direct approach was required. All that the woman needed to do was to accept her role in the future of the Vault, and the best way to do this, the Overseer reasoned, was to encourage her to _get on with it_.

Mr Cole had very kindly offered to assist here. He had, after all, always been a loyal and hardworking member of staff.

In the end, he had needed several stitches, an ice pack in a particularly sensitive area, and (the doctors estimated) two weeks of recovery time. The woman had managed to wrench free a metal bar from the side of her bed and had used it as a weapon against a man who was just trying to do his job. Security staff had had to drag her off him after she had placed all of her body weight onto the bar which was balanced on his neck.

The poor man hadn’t even been able to finish taking off his vault suit.

The Overseer was unsettled, but undeterred. She had sent for Luke in the hope that their previous history would help to settle the crazed woman and to encourage her to accept what it was that she needed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter; the next one will be much longer.


	17. The Vault: Because You Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit of Overseer POV at the end, but otherwise business as usual POV-wise.

_10 th October 2278_

 

Tommie looked up at Luke, her expression determined but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“They’ve sent you,” she said quietly.

“They have,” Luke agreed, watching her cautiously. News about what had happened to Cole had travelled quickly.

“You’re stronger than I am,” she noted. “And I’m assuming that everyone knows what happened to Cole, so I’ve lost the element of surprise.”

Luke simply nodded. Tommie had also been chained to the bed on one side since the incident and so would find it even harder to fight. Silence reigned for a short while. Finally, Tommie sighed and rolled her head back, looking at the ceiling.

“If it had to be anyone, I suppose I would rather it be you.” She said, quietly. A little confused, Luke said nothing, instead watching the woman lying forlornly on the bed, still covered in bruises and scratches. “You were really kind to me. You’re a good man.” Finally, she turned her head back to face him. “I mean it.”

“You really cared about me?” He asked her, taking a seat in the same chair that James had haunted during her time in the coma.

“I did,” she replied. “I do.”

“Then why are you in here?”

She looked away again.

“Because I love James,” she answered simply. Luke considered this for a time, finally he spoke.

“If there was no James, would you love me?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Tommie admitted.

“Would we have been together?”

“More than likely,” she replied. She turned to face him again. “I’m sorry I used you to see what was out there. I really am. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t care about you then and it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you now.”

“It’s just that you’re in love with James.”

“Yes.”

Silence fell again; it was some time before it lifted.

“You know what I was sent in here to do?” He asked. Tommie nodded. “How do you feel about it?”

“Well I’m not exactly thrilled,” she replied. Luke smiled in spite of himself; he’d missed her sarcasm and sharp responses, even though they’d annoyed him so much when they had been out in the Wastes. “But I suppose I’d rather it was you than someone else.”

He walked over to the bed and moved to take her hand. She squeezed his hand gently, but Luke had noticed the flinch as he had reached over to her.

“Because you care about me?” He asked her; again, she nodded.

“You’re one of the only people in this place that’s really treated me as a person. Not some novelty, not something to boost morale or to ensure the future of the Vault. An actual, _real_ person. I can’t even tell you what that meant to me, what it _does_ mean to me.”

“Will you hate me after?”

“Yes,” the reply was barely audible. Tommie hadn’t turned away, and had fixed her gaze on his, but her expression of determination couldn’t hide the fear or the pain in her eyes. Again, silence stretched out between them before Luke finally broke it.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered; Luke believed her.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” he admitted, his words making him feel almost like a child.

“I’m sorry,” Tommie repeated, simply. Luke kissed her hand.

“Do you trust me?” He asked; she seemed to hesitate a moment, but then finally nodded in reply. “Then kiss me,” he told her. She frowned. “I mean kiss me properly, like you mean it. As though I was James.”

Tommie looked at him, confused. She opened her mouth to reply, but Luke covered it with his free hand. “I have a plan,” he whispered, as quietly as he could. “But I need you to trust me.” He took his hand away.

“And to kiss you?” She whispered in reply, raising an eyebrow.

“And to kiss me.” Tommie frowned at him, but there seemed to be some more humour in her expression now.

“Is that part of the plan or is it for you?” She asked, almost smiling.

“Would you believe it’s a little from column A and a little from column B,” he grinned at her.

He leant in and their lips met.

 

* * *

 

 

The Overseer was happy. Whilst Mr Miller hadn’t done anything towards securing the next generation directly, he also had not been attacked and the stirring kiss that they had shared at the end of the encounter had left her feeling confident that it would now only be a matter of time before Ms Crossley-Booth finally started to cooperate in earnest.

He had come to her afterwards and explained that the woman would be open to cooperation on the condition that she be allowed some freedom and that no other men be sent into her room – especially not for the purposes that he himself had been sent. The Overseer agreed to the restrictions on visitors, but was unwilling to allow the woman to leave the room in which she had been placed. Although she did grudgingly remove the chains.

Finally, after some more visits, the Overseer agreed that Ms Crossley-Booth be allowed to leave the room, although only under the supervision of Mr Miller. He had explained that taking walks together was an important part of the courtship rituals of her time and argued as well that the happier she was in the arrangement, the more relaxed Ms Crossley-Booth would be, and so the more likely she was to become pregnant when they did finally lay together.

She had been worried the first few times that they ventured off together, especially when their wonderings had led them out of the view of the cameras watching throughout the Vault, but the woman always returned, usually looking increasingly cheerful.

She couldn’t understand why people didn’t just follow in step more often; clearly Ms Crossley-Booth was feeling better since her decision to stop fighting.

The Overseer’s good mood lasted until Ms Crossley-Booth was taken out of her room one afternoon for a pre-arranged stroll with Mr Miller and did not return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke is a good egg, bless him. 
> 
> Also, on a personal note: I'm back at work full time now (I wrote a lot of this fic while having an extended bit of leave), so I might be posting less frequently than before, though I'll try to stick to once a week at least :)


	18. Mojave: Mixing Drinks

_8 th November 2281_

 

Tommie leaned back on the bed, her back against the wall, and took another long drink from the glass of whiskey and purified water that she’d been nursing. The heat of it made her cough; she’d survived bullets, bites, and beatings, and yet the power to drink whiskey without embarrassing herself still seemed to elude her. She sometimes thought about how her father would have teased her about it, and would smile at the idea. On this occasion, however, her mind was occupied with the events of the last few days.

Across the room, Boone sat on the floor, his back against the wardrobe. He had his own bottle of whiskey which he was drinking neat. Meanwhile, ED-E simply hovered contentedly in the corner by the window. The pair had been sat drinking in a comfortable silence for a while now. The room had only belonged to Tommie for all of an afternoon, ever since she and Boone had returned from the REPCONN test site and Cliff had insisted that she take the key. Said he’d wanted to ‘give something back’ to her.

Finally, Tommie broke the silence.

“Right,” she started, uncertainly. “That... that all happened, right? That all actually happened?”Boone looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. Flustered, Tommie continued. “I just mean... the ghouls and – the nightkin – and the _sentient_ _glowing one_ , and then....” She trailed off.

ED-E beeped a response.

“Yes, I know, I _have_ met ghouls before; I’ve just never put one in a _rocket_ before,” she said, a little annoyed at the bot’s cheeky reply.

“It did happen,” Boone said simply. He raised his bottle to her and took a large drink; Tommie followed suit.

“Well thank whoever for that,” she sighed. “At least I’ve not gone completely mad, then.”

“Just a little?” Boone asked, with strikingly uncharacteristic (and, for Tommie at least, wholly unfamiliar) humour in his voice.

“Just a little,” Tommie agreed, smiling at him. The silence returned, and the pair continued to drink. After a while, the quiet began to bother her again; the whiskey was starting to go to her head. 

“Let’s have a conversation... Yes, I know, I know,” she said quickly, catching sight of his expression. “I mean a normal, human conversation. Maybe even learn a bit about one another.”

Boone continued to frown at her; she sighed.

“Look, I’m not going to sit here and dissect you, but we seem to work well together on the field, it would just be nice to know you better as a person. I promise not to ask you any difficult questions.” That seemed to do the trick, Boone’s expression softened and he nodded.

“So, where are you from?” She asked.

“NCR,” he replied simply. Tommie waited for the rest, but it didn’t seem to be forthcoming. The silence stretched out for what felt like an age, until finally he sighed and expanded by simply stating: “Near Shady Sands.”

_Well. This is fun._

She appraised him a moment, before deciding on a different tack.

“You ever take off that beret?”

“No.”

“Is it military gear?” Boone nodded. “Who did you serve with?”

“First NCR Recon. It's a sniper battalion. Sees a lot of action.”

“And so I take it that _that_ ,” she pointed at the emblem on his hat, squinting slightly at it through increasingly bleary eyes, “is the logo for your battalion on the beret?”

“Yeah. Bear skull with crossed rifles behind it. Slogan underneath: ‘The last thing you never see’.” Tommie grinned at him.

“Now that is badass,” she said; the corners of Boone’s mouth twitched upwards, betraying a small smile.

“It's accurate,” he told her. “And so were we.”

He went on to explain how he’d come to join the battalion, about his time at Camp Golf and Camp McCarran, even his thoughts on Hsu and Oliver, some of the top brass of the NCR. Tommie listened with interest. This was the most Boone had said to her since the night that they had met, and this time he wasn’t commissioning her to lead someone to their death. The whiskey flowed; Tommie offered Boone the rest of her bottle when his ran dry and mixed herself a Nuka and Vodka to drink instead.

“How about you?” Boone asked Tommie.

“I’m fine,” she replied, gesturing to her glass. Boone shook his head.

“No. I mean, what did you do? Before this.” Tommie raised her eyebrows in surprise; it was unlike Boone to take much of an interest in anything beyond the Legion, after all.

“I was a courier,” she answered. “Then before that, I did some work on the caravans, and before that I was in a vault.”

“What kind of Vault?” He asked.

“Ah, I take it you’ve heard about the fun and games Vault Tec had, then?”

“I have,” Boone nodded. “But other than sounding like one of those creepy butler robots, you seem pretty normal. Makes me think it was one of the less fucked-up vaults.” He took another large swig from Tommie’s bottle. Tommie took a slow sip from her glass.

“Well,” she started. “I’m over two hundred years old, so I’d say that the vault was at least _slightly_ fucked up.” Boone choked.

“What the hell?” He gasped out between coughs. Tommie stood up to walk over to him; he held up a hand to stop her. He’d gone red, but the coughing did seem to be subsiding.  She sat back down on the bed and shrugged.

“It’s a long story,” she said simply. “Put briefly: I was there when the world ended. And before, come to that. And no, I’m not a ghoul, or some kind of robot. We were put into cryopods and frozen for two hundred years.”

Boone stared at her, mouth agape. Silence reigned, and it was not the comfortable kind. Tommie knocked back the remainder of her drink and sighed.

“If it freaks you out, then you might as well leave now. There’s not a lot that I can do to change it, so if it bothers you –“

“It’s not that,” Boone said quickly. “It’s just... shit.”

“That it is,” Tommie agreed. She walked over to the desk where they had placed their alcohol and prepared herself another glass of Nuka and vodka.

“Is that why...” Boone faltered and frowned. “Never mind...”

“You’ve started, so finish,” Tommie told him, still looking down at the desk. Instinctively, her right hand closed over her left, over the scarring on her fourth finger. Boone sighed.

“Is that why... you sound so... strange?”

“Wait... what?” She spun herself to face him. “What do you mean?”

“I-” he started, but Tommie cut him off.

“Do you mean my accent?” She asked him incredulously; Boone hesitated before finally nodding. Unable to stop herself, Tommie laughed. She set to work finishing pouring her drink and then walked back over to the bed. “No, that’s not from the vault.” She sat down and took a long drink. “It’s not unrelated, though.” She conceded.

She explained about her homeland, that she had travelled over for work shortly before the Great War, that she had no idea how her country had fared when the bombs had fallen (though she’d met travellers from the Capital Wasteland who spoke of a man who’d travelled from England to seek his fortune). She told him about the rolling fields of home, about the heather on the hills at the end of summer, and about how thinking of home made her miss the colour green ("Real green, _living_ green").

But she stopped short of talking about James.

“Did you lose family in the war?” Boone asked; Tommie nodded.

“Dad, mainly,” she replied. “My mum died when I was small. No brothers or sisters, and I had cousins and aunts and uncles, but I wasn’t really all that close to them. Dad’s the only one I miss.” She drained her glass and stood up to return to the desk to organise another refill. “Still, from what I gather, losing your entire family is pretty commonplace nowadays,” she added, trying to pull herself back, away from the lure of memory lane. There wasn’t enough vodka or whiskey in the world to deal with that path. “Losing a parent isn’t really anything to write home about today.”

She looked down at Boone, who was still sat on the floor, and frowned. “That can’t be comfy. Come and sit over here; I promise I don’t bite.” She winked at him.

Boone furrowed his brows, but took to his feet all the same. He walked over towards the bed, and took a seat on one of the small plastic chairs.

“Really?” Tommie said, gesturing wildly to the settee, which looked significantly more comfortable than the creaking blue chair on which Boone now sat.

“I’m fine,” he told her.

Maybe it was because she had been mixing drinks, maybe it was because this had been the longest amount of time that she’d spent talking to any one person for over a year, but something moved her to ask:

“What is it you aren't telling me about what happened to your wife?”

She regretted the words as soon as they had left her mouth.  Boone had seemed to freeze when she asked the question; it took a moment before he finally returned her gaze, a warning look on his face.

“You got no right asking me that. Drop it.” He told her, his tone cold as ice. Tommie nodded and looked down, shamefaced.

“You're right. I was out of line, I’m sorry.” She said quietly. To her surprise, she heard the man let out a quiet, sad sigh. She looked up at him; his expression had softened somewhat, and that the quiet anger that had been there just moments before had been replaced with unmistakable sadness.

“It's just something I'm not ready to discuss. With you or anybody.” He said, looking down the neck of the whiskey bottle as though he hoped that he could drown in it.

Tommie nodded.

“I know that feeling,” she said quietly.

_I know that feeling all too well._

The two went on to drink in silence until the sun came up. Tommie fell asleep, sat up on top of the bed, her glass rolling away from her over the sheets.

Boone had meant to walk downstairs to sleep in his own room, he’d been telling himself it was time to go since long before Tommie had dozed off. Yet now he found himself still sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, watching the woman sleep, watching her left hand on top of her chest as it rose and fell with her breathing, looking at the scar on the fourth finger.

 _What is it you aren't telling me about what happened to your husband?_ He thought.

Finally, he gave into the exhaustion. He aimed to walk down to his room. Instead he managed to stagger over to the settee by the door, and promptly collapsed onto it. He was asleep before his head hit the cushion.

ED-E beeped quietly.

It was a beep that conveyed strong, sad sentiments about the state of human friendships and relationships generally, and about the conduct of his new friends in particular.

A rough translation would have read: “ _Damn_ _Humans_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING: Nuka World Spoiler!] -- I can't even tell you how happy I was to meet Oswald the Outrageous in Nuka World; Sentient Glowing Ones are so bloody cool :D


	19. The Vault: Don't Get Caught

_29 th October 2278_

 

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Tommie told him, trying and failing to hold back her tears.

“I can think of a way that you can easily thank me,” Luke replied, winking. “But I don’t think your boyfriend would be on board with it, somehow.” He gestured to James, who shrugged.

“To be fair, this is kind of a big deal, so I could probably overlook a quick one,” he drawled, and then laughed as Tommie punched him in the side. “Joke! That was a joke!”

“It better had been,” Tommie hissed, though she did smile as well. “But seriously, Luke, I have no idea how we can repay you.” Luke shrugged.

“Don’t get caught, and don’t get killed,” he replied, simply. “What you two have is something else; a rare fucking thing these days. Make sure you look after each other.” He handed her the pack that he had shown her earlier – filled with ammo, radiation meds, and stimpaks – and handed James a larger bag that Tommie knew to contain water, food, as well as spare weapons and armour.

Overwhelmed, Tommie felt the tears fall again.

“Stop crying,” Luke told her. “At this rate, you’re going to leave a trail and be dragged back here by morning.” Tommie laughed, and reached up to Luke to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled as best he could, but it was hard to disguise the ache that the kiss had stirred in him. Over the weeks since their reunion in the hospital bay room, they had kissed passionately countless times, but he knew of course that they were for show at best, or that they were kisses for James on the wrong man.

This was the first really real kiss that she had given him since the day that she had been banned from leaving the Vault. Perhaps, he thought sadly, the first real kiss ever.

It had taken a lot of himself to even consider organising this, to put aside what the Overseer had been offering to him on a plate and to do what, deep down in his heart, he knew was best. He wasn’t a man of much thinking, indeed he’d glazed over whenever Tommie had tried to explain about different theories and schools of thought, but what he knew was this: you protect the people you love. And whether or not she loved him back, he loved that woman – and if the only way to protect her was to send her away, then so be it. At least out in the Wastes with James, not only would she be safer, benefitting from having an extra pair of eyes and hands, but above all she’d be happier.

“Right, we should head out before your absence is noted... or before you flood the vault,” James said, wiping Tommie’s face with his sleeve. He turned to Luke. “Thank you again, mate.” He held out his hand; Luke took it and the pair shook. “Now, which one of us would you like to kick you in?”

Luke decided that James ought to do it, the logical part of him reasoned that it had to look convincing (he didn’t trust Tommie to batter and bruise someone that she cared about), and a small bitter part of him figured that Tommie had hurt him enough already. Whatever the reasoning, James obliged. Another drawn out goodbye followed, and Luke watched in silence as Tommie and James walked hand in hand up out from the Vault entrance and into the wasteland.

He waited over an hour before staggering back into the Vault, on through the corridors until he reached the first person he came across (some kid, new on Cole’s security team, who had been reading a magazine instead of watching the cameras). At that point, he threw himself down dramatically in front of the teenager, spat blood, and shouted.

“The bitch double-crossed me! Her and the other guy – the other one that sounds like a damn Mister Handy – they beat me! Stole my kit! Ran off!”

The boy panicked and scrambled around for a medi-kit, which he all but threw at Luke, before running off to find his superiors. Luke rolled his eyes and started fishing through the box for a stimpak.

As much as his ribs hurt, he really did hope that Tommie and James were far away by now and that they were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Luke is a good egg.
> 
> A shorter update today; the back-to-work schedule is kicking my butt :/


	20. The Wastes: Pork n Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is quite enjoying this jaunt into the Wastes, meanwhile Tommie has her serious face on.

  
_27 th October 2278_

 

  
“Got to say,” James said, looking up from his tin of Pork n Beans, “the city’s looking lovely this time of year.” Tommie snorted a laugh. “I’d say something about the changing of the leaves,” he continued. “But something tells me it’d be less autumnal and more...” he gestured vaguely “giant, six-legged leaf monster.”

Tommie grinned. “Don’t be daft,” she said, reaching for her own tin. “It’s _obviously_ eight-legged.” James barked a laugh.

Frag mine lights blinkered gently at various points around the room, and a narrow window high on the wall let in a small amount of moonlight.  It was difficult to see their meal, but Tommie was hesitant to put on her PipBoy light. They’d been walking for almost two days straight since leaving the Vault, propelled by Nuka, Sugar Bombs, and sheer fear; this was the first time that they’d felt safe enough to make camp.

In truth, the ruins of New York were fairly empty beyond the wildlife and the odd group of raiders or wastelanders that had taken a wrong turn. There were no settlements in the area; the soil was far too irradiated for anything to grow, but the pair had made a point of being cautious to a fault. Refusing to make camp until they were as sure as they could be that nothing would ambush them in the night.

There was still plenty of pre-war loot, for a person who knew where to look. At times, Tommie had felt as though she and Luke had picked the carcass of the city clean on their outings (though they felt like a lifetime ago to her now), but walking so far west with James reminded her of just how huge the city had been. But there had been no time to scavenge in earnest; with no Vault to return to full of Radaways and medical staff, their priority was to get out of New York as quickly as they could. The background radiation wasn’t severe, they had a plentiful supply of Rad-X and it was doing its job. But there was only so much a body could take after all; especially ones that had grown up in a rad-free environment. Still, after a seemingly endless trek, Tommie’s Pip-Boy informed her that they finally crossed what had long ago been the state line into Pennsylvania.

“Should only be another day or so until we’re out of the irradiated zone, by the way,” she told James. “Hopefully we should start seeing settlements after that.”

“Ace,” he replied. “Hopefully we’ll see our first feral before then as well.” Tommie rolled her eyes.

“Hopefully not,” she said. “After everything that Luke said about them I’d rather avoid them, if it’s all the same. I’m honestly amazed we’ve not bumped into any already.” Luke had given them brief explanations about some of the things they were likely to encounter in the Wastes during their secret meetings back in the Vault. Some of the creatures Tommie had seen before on their expeditions, some she’d never even heard of. James, meanwhile, listened in wide-eyed fascination and, once Luke had given them holotapes filled with the information, had pored over the data. Nightmare fuel for a bedtime story, but James had simply been fascinated and eager to see all of these things for himself. Tommie had basically had to frogmarch him away from the body of a mole rat after they’d killed an ambush of the things; he’d wanted to stop and take a proper look.

“What’s next after that, then?” James asked Tommie as he polished off his tin of food.

“After what?” Tommie replied, frowning.

“After we find a settlement,” he clarified. “Once we’re all rested up and restocked?”

“Well, surely we’ll stick around if it’s nice enough?” She answered, confused. Now it was James who frowned in reply.

“You really don’t want to explore?” He asked. “I’ve seen you out there, you know how to handle yourself, and you know I can shoot anyway. We could make a real go of this.”

“Oh, yes, never having a full night’s sleep, half-cooked by radiation, hoping that that feral bite or deathclaw scratch doesn’t get infected. Yes, sounds like heaven!” Tommie replied, her words dripping sarcasm, her face twisted in disbelief.

“Well, we could stop here and there,” he said. “To rest up and resupply, and have a bit of RnR, and then head back onto the road after a week or two.”

“James, this isn’t an opportunity for a road trip, this is the fucking apocalypse!” Tommie moaned; James simply grinned.

“That just means we don’t have to go into work,” he winked. Tommie pinched the bridge of her nose.

“There’s more out there than mole rats and raiders, you know,” she told him through gritted teeth. “There’s some nasty shit in the Wastes, the ferals, the supermutants, the _deathclaws_!”

“Yes, I know, but you killed one of those claw-things, Luke told me!” James said, his eyes sparkling. “He said the ferals go down easy as long as you avoid being swarmed, and he said that most of the supermutants are dumb as rocks, so we should be able to avoid them pretty easily.”

Tommie opened her eyes and simply watched James.

“You’ve not been out here very long,” she said, her voice betraying her exhaustion from their travels and from the conversation. “You’ll soon learn; it’s not easy out here. We’ve been lucky so far and that luck is bound to run out at some point. Hopefully it’ll be a group of raiders that we can handle rather than a group of supermutants that we can’t, but we will be up against something bigger than a mole rat before we find proper shelter, I guarantee it. And then it won’t be a question of scientific interest, it’ll be one of who can attack fastest, who can take the most hits, whether we can get out in one piece, and then how many stimpaks we have left until it all goes south again.”

Silence descended and James’ smile fell.

“I never thought of it that way,” he admitted. “But maybe it’s more that I didn’t want to, this shit’s scary enough without thinking about what might happen.”

Tommie shrugged.

“It’s the fear that keeps you alive,” she explained. “That’s what Luke always told me. You need to find that point between being too scared to function, and so relaxed that you let your guard down.” Having seen how quickly his face had fallen, Tommie started to feel a little guilty. “Honestly, though we might be okay,” she told him, changing tack. “It’d be nice to think so anyway, we're both good shots, like you said. And like I said: we should start seeing settlements soon. The people there will know the lay of the land better than anyone and will be able to give us some pointers if we do decide to move on.”

The smile began to creep back onto James’ face; Tommie knew the expression that was forming: James had had an idea.

This rarely bode well.

“You know...” he started, hesitantly, “we could join a caravan. Luke was saying that they travel all over and that they’re always looking for guards.” Tommie found that she was frowning again.

“Well yes, but there’s a specific reason why they have such a high turnover when it comes to guards...” she told him.

“Well maybe they’re just not as good a shot as we are,” he replied, eyes twinkling; Tommie rolled hers again.

“We’ll see,” she told him – more to put an end to the conversation than as any actual statement of promise. She rummaged into James’ pack, dragged out his rifle, and handed it to him. “And as you’re so full of beans tonight, then you can take first watch,” she said, moving to arrange her own pack as a pillow.

“Full of beans _and pork_ ,” he smiled at her.

“Oh my god, on second thoughts, just shoot me,” she scorned, but smiled at him all the same.

 


	21. Mojave: Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommie now knows the name and the whereabouts of the man who shot her - and suddenly feels significantly less eager about chasing him down.

_12th November 2281_

 

“That was impressive!” Veronica trilled.

“Thank you,” Tommie replied, smiling.

“I can think of at least fifteen things that could have gone wrong there...”

“Well I-“

“And it was really irresponsible for you to tease that Kahn like that, while he was obviously freaking out and strung up on chems...” She continued; voice still happy and light.

“Yes but-“

“...And the less said about the incident at the war memorial the better.”

“That really was not my fault-“

“...But anyway, we all survived! I kind of thought we wouldn’t a few times back there – but we did!”

Veronica grinned toothily at her; despite her mild annoyance at the dressing down she’d just been given, Tommie couldn’t help but return the smile.  

“What can I say,” Tommie replied shrugging. “I’ve got this _surviving-absurd-bullshit_ thing down to a fine art at this point.”

Veronica laughed and, together with Tommie and Boone, the three of them fell into step; ED-E hovering quietly behind them. Tommie and Boone had joined up with the woman after passing through the 188 to pick up more ammo and stimpaks. After she had gotten to talking with the scribe, Tommie found herself inviting her to join their little group.

 _After all_ , she’d reasoned, _Boone isn’t exactly the most talkative of company, and I could do with a good chat now and then_.

Boone didn’t seem to take the news that they would have a new addition very well (that is, Tommie got the impression that he was acting even surlier than usual), and had barely even looked at Tommie since Boulder City. In fact, Tommie had noticed that things had not exactly been perfect between them since that night in the motel.

 _I must have really crossed a line there_ , she thought sadly _. Why the hell did I have to go and ask him about his wife?_

Still, despite Boone’s increasingly surly mood, and the slight disapproval from Veronica over her decision to mess with Jessup’s head ( _I bloody earned that bit of fun, though,_ she’d decided. _If he can dig my grave, I can ruin his afternoon_ ), Tommie was nevertheless feeling somewhat accomplished.

 _So, the man in the chequered coat is a bloke named Benny_... She could feel the weight of his cigarette lighter in her trouser pocket. She knew where to find him.

And that was the problem.

“I’m really going to have to get a dress, you know,” Veronica piped up. “If we’re going to Vegas, then these old things just aren’t going to measure up.” She added, tugging on her robes. Tommie said nothing.

Vegas. Benny was in Vegas.

 _Oh he fucking would be_.

“If we set off now, we could probably make it in a few days,” Veronica continued. “This is really exciting!” She grinned again; this time, Tommie couldn’t bring herself to match it.

Veronica’s smile fell, leaving a confused expression in its wake. She opened her mouth to speak again but was interrupted by Boone before she could do so.

“Well if you’re going to Vegas, you’d better have the caps,” he said. He turned to Tommie. “And I don’t think you do.”

Veronica frowned.

“The caps?” She asked. “Is it expensive to get onto the strip?” Boone laughed humourlessly.

“Depends how easy you can make 2,000 caps,” he shrugged.

“Bloody hell!” Tommie exclaimed unthinkingly. “They don’t want much, do they?”

“It’s the credit check,” he explained. “Want to make sure you have enough to play in the casinos.”

“Well that’s us out, then,” Tommie sighed. “Even after Boulder we’re still only at around 400 at the minute. It’ll take us ages to make that kind of money...”

She felt strangely lighter at the thought.

The group stopped walking; if nothing else, they no longer seemed to have an obvious destination. Feeling a little like a sitting duck – and (as ever) rather desperate to find a way to keep busy – Tommie’s mind scrambled for a plan of action. Finally, she turned to Boone.

“What do you know about Camp Forlorn Hope?” She asked him. He frowned at her, perplexed.

“Not far from here,” he answered. “Bad place to get posted, though. Like getting a damn death sentence.” Tommie nodded.

“I’ve heard that,” she said. “Fancy having a look? Maybe there’s some way we could give them a hand. Lighten the load a little.”

Boone eyed her suspiciously for a moment.

“They don’t have much in the way of caps,” he told her. “Or supplies for that matter.” She shrugged.

“I just want to do something useful for a bit,” she replied. “And it can’t hurt to make myself useful to the NCR of all people, either.”

ED-E beeped excitedly; Veronica’s face lit up.

“The NCR have a monorail?!” She exclaimed, translating. “So all this brown-nosing will get us into Vegas even if you don’t have two caps to rub together!”

 _Bugger_.

Tommie forced a small laugh.

“You know me, always looking for a solution!” She replied; her voice uncomfortably high. However gifted she was at lying, the ability to do so to her friends had always been a skill that had eluded her. Fortunately, Veronica seemed oblivious, too wrapped up in her excitement of seeing those bright lights up close.

But Tommie was sure that Boone’s eyes had grown even colder, his expression even harder, behind those damn sunglasses.

She just couldn’t decide whether it was because she (seemingly) wanted to use the monorail, or because he’d realised that she didn’t. Feeling particularly uncomfortable under Boone’s gaze, Tommie brought up her Pip-Boy, and searched for the route to Camp Forlorn Hope.

“Right,” she said, finally. “If we set off now, we should hopefully be there before night falls in earnest.”

With that, Tommie turned her heel and began to stride purposely up the road. The others fell into step and began to trail behind her; Boone’s suspicious gaze boring into her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update this time; though I'll try to get something longer drafted in the week :)
> 
> I really hope that I wrote Veronica Ok, she and Arcade are the two I've been most worried about writing as they're both so witty and entertaining. I was also worried that I was maybe making Veronica seem like an airhead here - not my intention, rather I just want to convey how excited I reckon she'd actually be about the prospect of going to Vegas... (Sorry, I really do worry about all this :/)
> 
> Also, a big thank you to you all for reading this - I don't say that enough <3


	22. The Wastes: Ticks

_13th January 2279_

 

Long-dead tall grass crunched under Tommie and James’ feet as they walked away from the settlement of Hope’s Gate. Their strides were far less purposeful than they had been on the approach to the area, but now they carried themselves far more easily, even though their packs now weighed twice as much. The rest had done them good. 

Tommie’s pack now weighed almost double what it had on the day that they had left the Vault, but she carried the bag now as easily as she had carried it then; the months of hard travelling had made her stronger. They'd had their impact on James as well; he seemed more perceptive these days, better at calculating their chances, more accurate with his shots.

“So what was wrong with that settlement, then?” Tommie asked James jovially; he grinned.

“’Hope’s Gate’? Fucking _please_ ,” he replied.

“You can’t really be crossing off a settlement because they have painfully cheesy name?”

“Hey,” James said, holding up his hands. “I can put up with a lot of things from a settlement, but can you honestly say that you’d be happy saying to outsiders that you were from ‘ _Hope’s Gate_ ’?” He said the name in a mocking singsong voice and Tommie couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I suppose I can’t” she conceded.

This had become routine, almost a tradition.  They would wander the Wastes looking for shelter, for somewhere to rest up, resupply, and earn some caps. And then, after a few weeks, just as they were starting to be known to people, starting to really settle in, James would decide that it was time that they were moving on.

At first, he had come up with understandable reasons as to why they wouldn’t stay. The land is too poor to farm, there was no long-term living in the area so why settle there when they were young enough to find better, sometimes the locals were too suspicious of the travellers with the strange voices, sometimes downright hostile. Once James said that he didn’t like the view and didn’t feel too keen on the idea of waking up to it each day.

But he had never said the real reason as to why he had never found a settlement in which he’d wanted to stay, though Tommie knew it all along of course. James had never exactly been shy about his intent to travel the Wastes, after all. And Tommie was sure that James knew now that she had worked out why no place ever seemed good enough – hence the increasingly absurd reasons as to why they had to move on.

At least the distain for the name of this settlement was better than his insistence that the saloon at the last outpost had been haunted.

“Did you ever get bit' by ticks back in the day? Back in our time?” James asked suddenly as he kicked through the tall grass; Tommie glanced over at him.

“No, though I knew a few who did,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

James shrugged.

“I was just thinking,” he replied. “Our Mick got bit by one, turned into Lymes disease. Turned into a week’s stay in hospital; he was lucky to get out of it alive.”

“Imagine if ticks survived and evolved like the damn bloatflies,” Tommie said; James nodded.

“That’s what I was thinking. If ticks in our day could do that, what the fuck could they do now?" He said. "Got to wonder what other horrors the Wasteland still has up its sleeve.”

“Honestly I don’t think we’ve seen even a tenth of what this place has got to offer,” Tommie said. “We’ve not even seen a behemoth yet.”

“One for the bucket list, eh?” James grinned at her.  Tommie laughed.

“Better make it right at the end of the list,” she replied. “It may very well fulfil the ‘bucket’ bit.”

Suddenly, James stopped and dropped into a squat; he gestured to Tommie to do the same. She checked her PipBoy and confirmed that they’d remained unseen; she scanned the horizon until she found what had caught James’ eye.

“Fucking raiders,” he muttered. Tommie drew her rifle and peered down the scope.

“There’s at least ten there,” she whispered. “They’re milling around but they haven’t made camp or anything... James, where’s the nearest settlement to here, other than Hope’s Gate?”

James checked his PipBoy. “There isn’t one. The next isn’t for at least fifteen miles,” he replied. “Reckon they’re after this settlement?” Tommie shrugged awkwardly behind her gun.

“Hard to tell; they could just be waiting on someone or something. They could be on the move but taking a quick rest – one of them does seem to be hobbling a little, after all.... But yeah, I’d say the strongest odds are on attacking the town. Or maybe any passing caravans.” James shook his head.

“They won’t be here for the caravans,” they’re too irregular round here so it’d be a camp job unless they’re stalking them. And as the lass in the general store said the next one won’t be for another month then that suggests they haven’t stalked one here.”

“Town job, then?”

“Maybe.”

Silence fell and the pair continued to watch the group in the distance warily. After 30 minutes, they still hadn’t moved.

“Long rest if they’re just taking a break,” James remarked.

“I’ve not seen anyone eating so it’s not a lunch stop, and if they’re waiting on someone then they’re taking their bloody time. Honestly, I’m starting to get a bit worried for the town...”

“How long til dark?”

“Couple of hours,”

“They won’t attack before then,” James reasoned. “We can nip back and let them know that something might be coming.”

Tommie nodded and the pair began to make the journey back to the settlement, keeping as low as they could, and checking their PipBoys to make sure they hadn’t been spotted.

“Reckon the Hibbertsons have rented our room out yet?” James asked; Tommie smiled.

“We’ll probably be okay on that front.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've been so rubbish at updating of late. Hopefully, I'll get back to publishing weekly soon enough - but I'm also not wanting to put stuff out for the sake of putting it out (I still don't feel 100% about that last chapter) so there may be the occasional gap between chapters. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading this, and also to those of your who leave comments and kudos - it really is appreciated :)


	23. Mojave: Camp Forlorn Hope

_12 th November 2281_

 

Tommie had been kidnapped an embarrassing number of times, and while she had always managed to escape (save for the one exception that had ended with her being shot twice in the head), there had been occasions where she had found herself trapped for longer than she would have liked. One such instance had been a less-than-enjoyable fortnight she had spent with the raiders that had captured the caravan with which she’d been travelling through Illinois.

She and the rest of the workers had been thrown into a pen with a dozen or so other caravaneers, settlers, traders, and drifters that had been picked up along the same stretch of road. While some of the more optimistic captives seemed to assume that the raiders had plans to sell them on as slaves, Tommie was inclined to disagree. She based this disagreement principally on the fact that they were poorly cared for. Food for the captives was scarce and strictly rationed, and they were often beaten, seemingly as a source of entertainment. While a broken slave was a valuable commodity, one that was too weak to work was no good to anyone, she’d reasoned. As time marched on, hunger settled in, and the captives began to radiate an air of quiet terror. Sporadic beatings and one spectacularly violent and vicious killing in full view of the group had probably help to cultivate the sense of fear, hopelessness, and dread that pervaded the pen. Tommie remembered that strange atmosphere all too well; she had never experienced anything quite like it before or since.

That is, until now.

 

Tommie, Boone, ED-E, and Veronica arrived at Camp Forlorn Hope long after sunset, having walked the last few miles in darkness. Tommie had felt her blood run cold as she approached the camp. There were still signs of activity and, on the face of it, things seemed to be business-as-usual, but as they drew closer, Tommie could almost taste the sense of hopelessness that hung over the outpost.

Shortly after their arrival they were escorted to the command tent by a young NCR soldier, he was polite and respectful, but Tommie noted how guarded he was as well. _In places like these, every newcomer is a threat..._ she thought glumly. After a brief chat with the Major in charge, the group were given permission to sleep in the barracks on the condition that they help out around the camp the following day; a stipulation to which Tommie was all too happy to agree.

“Do you think they have room service?” Veronica quipped as they made their way to the shack in which they’d be spending the night. “Chocolates on the pillows?”

“A copy of _The Wall Street Journal_ with breakfast?” Tommie smiled.

“The _what_?” Boone interjected.

“Never mind.” Tommie sighed in reply, and turned her attention to the man stood outside the shack to which they were headed; he watched them warily.  “Hi there,” she smiled at him. He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re that Sanderson woman,” he said, his tone accusatory.

“I am,” Tommie confirmed.

“I've heard of you,” he told her. “Did you figure on coming out here and helping us lowly troopers out?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but if I can help then yes,” Tommie replied. “Tell me, how are things around the camp?”

“You kidding me? How are things? They're all fucked up, that's how things are!” He snapped. “Everyone is either starving or dying out here. Left out to dry by the rest of the NCR. Fuck this place.” He glowered at Tommie for a moment, his eyes boring into hers. She noticed that his pupils we dilated, but had only vaguely began to consider this before he continued. “We're out of food, we're out of men, and we're out of time.” He paused to draw in a shuddering breath. “The Legion is right outside waiting to kill us all. Today... tomorrow... it doesn't matter, we're all going to die here. So why don't you just leave me alone.” He threw her another defiant glare.

“I’ll do everything I can to help,” she told him. She found that she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Fuck off,” he replied. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing, instead merely gesturing to her companions to follow her as she pushed open the door to the barracks. Once inside, ED-E beeped at her.

“Well I’m not exactly keen on that level of rudeness either,” she replied. “But I think we might have to let this one slide, considering.”

“I take it you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Stone?” The voice had come from the corner of the room, where its owner was idling by a set of bunk beds. Tommie walked over to the man that had spoken and smiled.

“The bloke stood outside with the particularly friendly manner?” She asked; the man laughed.

“Yep. That’d be Stone.” He told her. “Sorry if he was mean with you. I think everyone’s a little on edge right now.”

“That’s more than understandable,” Tommie shrugged. “This isn’t exactly a holiday home for you all.”

“Well, thank you for understanding.” He smiled; Tommie couldn’t help but notice his easy demeanour; he was the first soldier that she’d encountered at the camp that didn’t seem to radiate fear, hopelessness, or paranoia; even Polati had seemed to have an air of quiet resignation about him...

He held out his hand to her. “The name’s Sexton. Private James Sexton. Welcome to Forlorn Hope.”

She took his hand and shook it. “Tommie Sanderson,” she told him. “So what’s your assignment here?”

“I've been placed in charge of morale,” he replied.

“Well now that sounds a bit of a tall order...”

“It is,” he agreed. “It's difficult trying to keep spirits up with the Legion nearby. In fact, there's more hope in wrangling Brahmin with my grandmother's stocking than inspiring these troopers.”

“Wait,” Tommie grinned. “Have you actually tried that? Something tells me you really have tried to wrangle Brahmin with your grandmother’s stocking...”

Sexton matched her smile and, to her surprise, Tommie was sure that she saw the ghost of a blush bloom on the man’s cheeks. “It's a long story,” he said. “Let's just say whiskey makes you do strange things to impress a girl.”

“Must have been a hell of a girl,” Tommie said. “Or at least a hell of a whiskey.”

“More the latter,” he replied. “I’ll forgive it, after all, whiskey also leads to some of my best competition ideas. Wanna hear one?”

“Why not.”

His smile widened. “Great. Since the camp is threatened by Legion, I propose a hunt. Kill any you encounter and bring me the Legion's ear as proof.” He looked at her expectantly for a moment. “You get it? Legion _ear_?”

Behind her, Tommie heard Veronica groan at the pun.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Tommie grinned at him. “You think of that all on your own?”

“Yep. Been waiting for a chance to use it. So can I count you in?” He asked eagerly.

“Sure. Sign me up.” 

“Great!” Sexton smiled at her again. “Don't be surprised if you're already last when you return. If I'm right, the troopers will use any excuse to slaughter Legion scum.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied.

“Make sure you do!” His smile seemed to falter briefly and he paused, looking at Tommie appraisingly. After a moment he spoke again. “Say, I’m headed out to the mess hall to see if they can scratch up any beers. I wonder if maybe-“

“We’ve done a lot of travelling today,” Boone interrupted, striding up to the pair. “We should call it a night.”

While annoyed and confused at Boone’s interjection, Tommie had to admit that he was right. Sexton was watching her expectantly, waiting for her response; she paused before she answered. In the quiet moment between them, she found that her eyes were drawn irresistibly to his mussed-up hair.

“Sorry but my friend’s right. It’s been a hell of a day.” She told him. “Another time, maybe?”

Sexton looked disappointed, but smiled at her all the same. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “It was great to meet you, Miss Sanderson.”

“Likewise, Private Sexton."

He took his leave from the shack, but flashed Tommie one more grin before he walked through the door.

 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, as she was tossing and turning on the ancient, lumpy mattress, that Tommie realised with a small lurch that she hadn’t corrected Sexton when he had referred to her as “Miss”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found Sexton to be weirdly charming. I wish there'd been more dialogue with him in the game :3
> 
> Apologies for the ridiculous delay in updating, btw. Writing this chapter took forever - I feel as though I forgot how to write over the last month :/


	24. The Wastes: For Life, Liberty, and Cram

_13th January 2279_

  
Tommie and James kept a vigil from the catwalk over the western entrance to Hope’s Gate, having been asked to make base there by the town mayor after they had explained their concerns over the raider camp a few miles up the road. They had been provided with food and drink to tide them over, and a bell to ring to alert the townsfolk if the raiders were seen to advance. They had been there for hours, through both drizzle and sun, without anything concrete to report.

 “Ugh. I hate being stood up,” James muttered as he looked out over fields that were now shrouded in near darkness. Tommie finished fixing her night vision scope to her rifle and put it to her eye, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I hadn’t realised you’d ever been stood up before?”

“I haven’t. Only now am I learning that I bloody hate it. Any joy?”

Tommie frowned and concentrated. She could see a small camp fire in the distance, around the same place that she and James had seen the raiders earlier that day. There seemed to be movement around the fire, and every now and then she could see figures briefly illuminated by flickering flames, but she was growing increasingly uneasy.

“Turn that lantern down,” she told James in absence of a proper reply. He obliged and waited, staying quiet so as to allow Tommie to concentrate. “The highest number I’ve had is three as a definite,” she said eventually. “I had four at one count, but I’m not certain of that one. Looks as though they’re pratting about with different bits of kit over there, and this far away and in this light it’s too difficult to get a proper look at the faces...”

“So what’s the verdict?”

Tommie paused, still frowning down the sights of her rifle. “Something isn’t right,” she muttered.

Barely a few seconds later, the air was filled with the unmistakable sound of laser fire coming from the southeast gate.

“Speak of the devil!” James said, taking his pistol from its holster with one hand and offering the other to help Tommie to her feet.

“Oh for heaven’s sake...” she muttered as she took his hand. She scanned the area; chaos was starting to unfold around the town as some ran for the supposed safety of home, while others ran out of their shacks either to help to defend the settlement or else to find out what all the noise was about.

“You staying up here to snipe or you getting into the fray?” James asked her after a moment. “We don’t want to appear rude to these people,” he continued, his face breaking into that lopsided grin. “I mean, they gave us _Cram_ so we kind of have to fight to the bitter end for them.”

“Let me see if I can get a handle on this first before you start performing any heroics,” Tommie told him, her eyes still focused down the sight. “Besides, it’s not like they gave us any Brahmin steaks, so I wouldn’t be too disheartened if you only manage to lose an arm for the town rather than outright dying for-“ she stopped and frowned. “Right. There’s at least five that I can see, can’t guarantee that there won’t be more when we get down there, let me just...”

She squeezed the trigger and fired. “Okay, so there’s at least four. I’m going to try to get some more from here. Cover seems to be a new concept to these people...”

“Righto,” James said cheerily. He moved over to Tommie to kiss her on the cheek. “Leave some of them for the rest of us!” He told her in a sing-song voice as he walked towards the ladder to get down. “And don’t drink any of my beer!”

“Don’t die!” She called back.

“Will do!” James replied. In spite of herself, Tommie laughed.

Tommie stayed in position for what felt like hours after that, though from what the other townsfolk told her later, it was probably closer to twenty minutes. She managed to take out another two raiders with well-timed shots, and took out the leg of another. When she dared, she looked out for James, but she couldn’t see him. This wasn’t particularly unusual, James’ skill for finding cover and spotting enemies excelled even her own these days. She knew how he fought: stealth, hyperawareness, and a silenced pistol were practically his trademarks. Somehow, however, knowing this didn’t make her feel much better.

Then she heard it. It carried on the air from the eastern part of the town, perhaps right by the perimeter fence.

The yelp of surprise and pain, and that unmistakable Yorkshire twang.

“You massive twat!”

Tommie laughed quietly behind her scope as she scanned the area, but her face fell as another scream followed and she recognised it as James’.

Trying desperately to keep calm, Tommie aimed her sights to the east in an attempt to find James. She couldn’t see him, but another yell she recognised as his rose up from the same area as before.

“Shit!” She hissed. “Shit!”

Panicking now, she threw her rifle to the side, drawing her 9mm. She bolted to the other side of the catwalk, her feet skidding over the damp floorboards; unthinkingly, she stamped her right foot hard in order to try to steady herself. It connected with an empty water bottle discarded during hers and James’ watch and she felt herself fall irresistibly forwards and over the edge of the walkway.

The last thing she could recall hearing was another strangled war cry of “Fucking shithead!” coming from the east. Then everything went black.


	25. Mojave: He Needs a Rest

_13 th November 2281_

 

“ _Psst!_ Veronica!” Tommie whispered, shaking the scribe gently by the arm.

“Wsswrg?” Veronica mumbled in reply, one eye half-open.

“I’ve got to go on a job,” she told her. “I’d just go on my own, but it’s a bit of a trek, and I’d like the company. Fancy coming with me?”

Veronica stared at her for a moment, before finally nodding (albeit with a sigh).

“Fine,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Shh!” Tommie frantically hushed.

“Don’t shush me!”Veronica replied, though her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Sorry, I just don’t want to disturb these lot,” Tommie gestured at the sleeping soldiers around them.

“Fine. I’ll get some supplies together.”

“No need,” Tommie told her. “I picked up plenty of ammo, water and stimpaks before I woke you up. We’re not exactly set up for a nuclear winter food-wise, but we can always hunt some geckos if we run too low.”

Veronica pulled a face.

“What?” Tommie asked, “I thought you didn’t mind gecko steaks?”

“I don’t,” she replied. “What I _do_ mind is being dragged out of bed at-“ she made  a grab for Tommie’s PipBoy and read the display “-the wrong side of 6am. And why are you already packed?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tommie whispered hurriedly. “I just need you to get dressed and – um – do you need to do anything for that?” She gestured to the power fist beside Veronica’s pillow. “Does it need charging or anything?”

“No, it’s fine,” she replied, frowning.

“Great, I’ll meet you outside.”

“Okay,” Veronica said, standing up and stretching. “Want me to wake Boone?”

“No, no, that’s alright. I’ve left him a note, letting him know that we’re on an errand and we’ll be back before nightfall. After all,” Tommie told her. “He could use a break.”

“Does he even take breaks?” Veronica smiled.

“Probably not, but he can always help out at the guard towers; sniping Legion is probably the closest thing he has to a hobby.”

 

* * *

 

“So what are we doing exactly?” Veronica asked after they had been walking for the best part of an hour. “Not that I mind the mystery road trip, but it’d be nice to have some kind of clue.”

Tommie continued walking, seemingly deaf to Veronica’s questions.

“Hey! Space Cowgirl!” Veronica said, gently punching Tommie on the arm. The woman jumped slightly.

“Shit, sorry,” Tommie said shaking her head. “I swear I’m neither use nor ornament at the minute. What’s wrong?”

“I was just wondering what we’re doing today,” Veronica said. “But _now_ I’m curious what’s up with you.” Tommie frowned.

“Nothing’s ‘up’ with me,” she replied. “And we’re hunting down some missing supplies for the camp.”

“That’s sounds fun,” Veronica said.

“I’m sure it will be.” Tommie sighed.

“ _Now_ what’s wrong with you?”

Tommie’s frown grew deeper. “Nothing, I’m fine.” She replied, her tone shorter this time.

Veronica nodded. “Seems like it,” she muttered. The pair walked in an awkward silence again for a brief moment before Veronica, seemingly unable to resist, spoke again.

“Why didn’t you want Boone with us?”

Tommie rolled her eyes. “I told you already, the bloke deserves a rest.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ll live.”

“Really, though, why have we left Boone behind?”

“Because he needs a bloody rest!” Tommie repeated, throwing her hands up in frustration. “The man is about _this_ far from snapping, I just wanted to give him a day off.”

“Okay,” Veronica said, raising her hands in placation.

“That’s all there is to it,” Tommie continued.

“Okay,” Veronica repeated.

“Everything is okay; I just think he needs a rest.” She went on.

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“Crystal.”

“I just think he needs a rest.”

“I think you mentioned that.”

 

* * *

 

An uneasy silence reigned until they reached Helios One. They spoke with the lieutenant on duty and then started on their way towards the coordinates that were now showing on Tommie’s PipBoy.

After a few minutes of walking, Tommie suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“Something’s wrong,” she said quietly, answering Veronica’s questioning look.  “Come on,” she dropped into a crouch, and Veronica followed suit. Tommie checked her PipBoy. “Says we’re hidden... but something feels _off_.”

They snuck along for a little while longer until this time Veronica held out a hand, halting them. “What’s that over there?” She asked, Tommie pulled out her rifle and looked down her scope.

“Two people in NCR uniforms lying on the ground, most probably dead,” she reported. “And next to them are what I’m assuming are the supplies we’re looking for.”

“Great,” let’s get them and get back. We might not even have to cook our own dinner if we get back soon enough!” Veronica grinned but Tommie was still frowning down the sights.

“I would like to revisit my earlier concern,” she mumbled.

“About something being wrong?”

“Yep,” Tommie said; she handed the rifle to Veronica. “Look down the scope at them and tell me what killed them.”

“Well I’m not a doctor... and I think even a doctor would struggle to do an autopsy at this distance.”

“It looks like it was a relatively clean kill, doesn’t it, though? They’ve not been eaten, anyway,” Tommie said; Veronica nodded. “But what gets me is that a human would probably be interested in what’s in the massive silver crate...”

“Looks like it’s still locked, and no bullet marks or anything...” Veronica added.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, now I’m starting to see the merits of your ‘something’s weird here’ theory,” she said, handing Tommie the rifle.

“It’s got to be a trap,” Tommie said, looking back down the sight.  “They know someone’s going to come looking for these, so they’ll strike when they do.”

“And we get to be those lucky people,” Veronica sighed. “Hopefully there won’t be too many of them.”

Tommie hummed in agreement and started thinking.

“Oh! Hang on!” She whispered excitedly. She started scrambling through her pack before finally and triumphantly producing a Stealth Boy that she had scrounged back in Goodsprings.

“Right, I’ve got a plan,” she turned to Veronica, grinning. “And you are absolutely going to hate it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for dropping off the edge of the world! I was hoping to update over Xmas, but that clearly did not go to plan :p  
> A shorter one today, I'm afraid, but the goal is to have a more substantial chapter ready for next week :)


	26. Mojave: Stealth

_13 th November 2281_

  
Tommie ordered Veronica and ED-E to wait for her at the place where they were sat. The eyebot and scribe protested in frantic (although hushed) tones; Tommie raised her hands in placation.

“Look, I get that you’re both upset, but I’m getting this done _now_ ,” she said. “Before I lose my nerve. Stay here, take my rifle and keep an eye out. If my Stealth Boy fails and they find me, I might need some cover fire.” She handed Veronica her rifle. “And if it seems like they’ve spotted me before the Stealth Boy’s run out, then don’t shoot. Hold your fire until you can see me. If I’m going to die in a godforsaken dessert, I’d rather it wasn’t an accident.” Veronica opened her mouth to speak at that, a concerned look on her face, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she nodded.

“Right,” Tommie continued, “I’d better lose some weight.” She took off her pack and emptied it onto the ground and then retrieved only a stimpak, a combat knife, and a pistol with some ammo from the pile to put back into the bag.

“Want me to carry some of that for you?” Veronica asked; Tommie seemed almost surprised at the offer.

“Oh, yes please. As long as it doesn’t weigh you down too much,” She gestured towards the chests. “We might need to make a quick getaway.” Veronica nodded and began packing away the equipment and food into her own satchel. “Oh, if you have room, would you mind carrying my clothes?”

Veronica looked up to find that Tommie had already taken off her top, her chest protected by a cropped grey vest, and was already unfastening her jeans.

“And you haven’t even bought me dinner,” Veronica sighed sadly; Tommie laughed.

“Don’t start,” she said, “Like I said, I need to lose some weight for this.” She finished pulling off her jeans and passed them and the top to Veronica.

“Not the hat?” Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow. Tommie grinned and straightened the First Recon beret that Boone had given her.

“Nah, it brings me luck!”

“You look insane,” the scribe said levelly. “In fact, this whole plan is insane.”

“Well at least the plan and I match, then,” Tommie said absently, picking up her pack and strapping up the Stealth Boy. “Besides, I won’t look _anything_ in a minute. You clear on the instructions?”

“Watch through the scope but don’t shoot until you’re visible.”

Tommie nodded.

“And even then _only_ if I’m in trouble. That bit’s important.” She looked up at ED-E. “Same goes for you, mister.”

_Beep._

“Good lad.”

And with that, she switched on the stealth boy and vanished.

Veronica watched as footsteps appeared in the sand appeared; they were shallow and soon covered by the breeze. She watched the landscape with bated breath. Ahead of her, Tommie held her pack close; half counting down the time left until her Stealth Boy ran out, and half cursing herself for getting into this in the first place.

 

* * *

 

“Fucking Legion...” Tommie muttered pulling up her jeans. “I really should have figured that it would have been them.”

“Hindsight is 20-20,” Veronica shrugged; she had started moving Tommie’s things back into her pack.

“I suppose,” Tommie conceded, pulling her top back on. “Come on, we’d better get these supplies back before dark. I’m not particularly happy knowing that they’re skulking about out there.”

Veronica nodded.

“I’m basically finished here,” she said, throwing in the last few stimpaks. “Good thing you’d packed light this morning.”

“I’m just glad we can carry the supplies between us,” Tommie sighed. “If we get spotted by the Legion at least it’s not quite as obvious that we’ve raided their little trap... That said, I feel bad now, too," she sighed. "There really aren’t enough supplies here for the camp.”

Veronica shrugged.

“There will have more now than they would have if we hadn’t come here.”

“True.” Tommie stood and pulled on her pack. “Let’s get out of here. And keep to the roads; I’d like to avoid any boys in red if I can help it.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s a pity we left Boone behind, really,” Veronica said. “It would have been the perfect opportunity for him to snipe the Legion. Like his birthday had come early... Actually, when _is_ his birthday?”

They’d been walking for almost an hour, keeping a steady pace back to Camp Forlorn Hope along the main roads.

“I’m not convinced he has one. He might have had a manufacture date, though.” Tommie muttered.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, that was mean.”

Veronica shrugged.

“Well, I guess he isn’t exactly emotional.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh?”

“After all, anger is an emotion.”

“True,” Veronica conceded. She watched Tommie for a moment; she was frowning, some minor inner conflict seemed to be going on inside her head.

“Do you think Boone is mad with me?” Tommie finally asked; Veronica raised her eyebrows.

“Um. I don’t know... I was just under the impression that he was mad at, well, everyone. All the time.” Tommie laughed.

“That sounds about right.”

“Why do you think he’s mad at you?” Veronica asked; Tommie’s face fell.

“Oh I don’t know. He’s not been as talkative of late, I mean-” Tommie added, noting the look on Veronica’s face “-he’s been even _less_ talkative than usual. Before we met you, we had this weird night where we drank too much and talked even more and he’s been off with me ever since.” She sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I said too much, or asked too many questions.”

“Maybe he thinks _he_ said too much?” Veronica suggested.

“Maybe,” Tommie nodded. “But it wasn’t really anything that personal. And now all this with the NCR.”

“What about the NCR?” Veronica asked; Tommie frowned.

“Ever since I started talking about coming to Forlorn Hope and helping out the NCR, Boone’s been even more off with me than usual. I mean, we weren’t exactly bosom buddies, but this is weird. As though he doesn’t think that I have particularly honourable intentions.”

“Maybe make it clear you’ll marry the NCR if you get it pregnant?” Veronica grinned. Tommie burst out laughing.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “It’s as though he suddenly doesn’t trust me – hell, he wouldn’t even let me go for a drink with Sexton last night – you know, that Private?”

“I know who you mean. Maybe he thinks you’re going to seduce your way to the top?” Veronica teased.

“Oh please, give me _some_ credit. You don’t get anywhere sleeping with the lower ranks,” Tommie replied with a wink. “Everyone knows that.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t because he doesn’t trust you,” Veronica said, giving Tommie a knowing smile. “Maybe he’s jealous?”

“That he didn’t get asked to go for a drink?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, there is absolutely no way that you misunderstood what I just said to you.”

Tommie shrugged.

“Maybe the notion is so ridiculous that it wasn’t really worth entertaining,” she replied. “Maybe the poor lad just wanted a pint and was put out that Sexton asked me rather than him.” She added in a sing-song voice.

The pair walked along in a comfortable, amused silence for a little while until Veronica’s widening grin began to annoy Tommie for reasons that she couldn’t quite pin down.

“What?” She finally asked.

“It’s just... _Sexton_ ,” Veronica replied. “There has got to be a brilliant pun in there somewhere.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We don’t want to go for the obvious, though.”

“Well of course not. Where’s the fun in that?”

 


	27. The Wastes: Settle Down

_14th January 2279_

 

“You bloody idiot.”

“Don’t.”

James’ grin grew even wider.

“You dullard,” he laughed. “Raiders all over the shop with guns, knives, the works, and you get bested by a bloody _wall_.”

Tommie groaned.

She was lying in one of the beds in Dr Renshaw’s medical shack, having been kept in overnight. She’d been found not long after she falling from the catwalk, blood pouring from a head wound caused by her collision with the wall.

James had been one of those that had carried her in; a concerned expression on his face beneath bruises and other people’s blood. He’d slept sat up in a chair beside her, still dressed in his armour, his weapons by his side. It was only when the doctor had confirmed that Tommie would be well enough to leave that afternoon that James had enthusiastically begun his teasing.

“I panicked,” she explained again. “I could hear you shouting. I wanted to do something!”

“So you knocked yourself out?” James grinned.

Tommie threw one of her pillows at him; he threw his hands up in surrender.

“Alright!” He laughed. “I’ll leave it.”

“You will?”

“Of course. Besides, I don’t want to exhaust the story; I want it to survive a million more retellings after today.”

Tommie rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. He may well be an annoying arse, but he was okay, he was by her side. She had been so frightened the night before that she was about to lose him, that she would never again get to see his lopsided grin, to hear his laugh, or to roll her eyes at his jokes – and now here he was beside her.

Suddenly, his teasing felt far more tolerable.

“So how long do we have the room at the Hibbertson’s for this time?” Tommie asked, changing the subject. “I’m not convinced I’d be great on the road today after my disagreement with the masonry.”

James watched her for a moment before speaking.

“Kevin Embers died,” he told her; she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Shit,” Tommie replied, unsure of what else to say. Neither she nor James had been particularly close to the man, but while losing acquaintances seemed to be becoming a regular part of life, it never did seem to get easier.

“It is,” James agreed. “But it also leaves a whole shack free. Mayor Smith asked me if we wanted it this morning.”

“And what did you tell her?”

James shrugged.

“I said I’d ask you,” he replied; Tommie furrowed her brow, confused.

“I’m going to need a few days before I’m road-ready; I don’t know if that’s worth a whole shack, though.” She told him.

“What about after you’re all healed up?” He asked.

“Then we head out,” she answered. “Don’t we?” James shrugged.

“Do you want to?”He asked. “Or would you like to stay here for a while?”

With a small wince, Tommie pushed herself up to sit up on the bed.

“Hang on,” she said. “You’re Mister Nomad around here –what’s going on? Why do you suddenly want to settle down? Yesterday you were all for marching across the bloody continent.”

James sighed.

“It’s just – when I saw you in that state last night, you were so limp... and the blood.” He shook his head. “I was fucking terrified, Tom’. I was so frightened I was going to lose you. It made me think that settling down wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Tommie stared at him.

“I get you were scared,” she said carefully. “I was too, but this cross-country trek is all you’ve been interested in doing since we left the Vault. You can’t really be serious about staying put just because I lost an argument with a wall...”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not necessarily saying that _this is it_ , that this is where we’re settling down for the rest of our lives, just... Well just that it might be worth taking a proper break. Being part of a community for a while. We can always move on later.”

“I suppose...” Tommie agreed, her tone thoughtful. “But only if you’re absolutely sure it’s what you want.”

“I am,” James replied. “For now, anyway. I’ll be sure to update you when I inevitably start getting bored.”

He grinned at her and she returned a smile.

“So, you must really have been frightened to want to settle down – however temporarily.”

“I basically shat myself,” James nodded; Tommie snorted a laugh.

“You might want to go and get changed in that case, then,” she teased; James stuck his tongue out at her.

“You know what this means, though,” Tommie continued.

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to have to tell people you’re from ‘ _Hope’s Gate_ ’.”

“Bugger.”


	28. Mojave: Letters

 

_13 th November 2281_

 

Veronica, Tommie, and ED-E approached the guard to Camp Forlorn Hope and found Boone supporting the guard there.  Veronica waved and gave him a friendly smile but he took no notice, his eyes narrowed as he watched the women and eyebot approach.

“Where the hell have you been?” He growled when they drew closer to the camp.

“Out,” Tommie told him, still walking. In one swift, fluid moment, Boone raised his rifle.

Tommie stopped in her tracks and sighed.

“This feels like an overreaction, Boone,” she said, keeping her voice level and her expression neutral. “If you wanted to know where we were then you could just have asked.”

“I did.”

“Then you could have asked _politely_ ,” she said. Boone glared. Tommie sighed again. “We were out getting some missing supplies for the camp,” she explained. “Major Polati and Quartermaster Hayes asked me to as the camp’s running low. Is that alright with you?”

Boone looked hesitant for a moment, but rallied.

“If that’s the truth, why didn’t you take me with you?”

“If I have to have this conversation again-” Tommie muttered under her breath. “Look Boone, I-“

Veronica cut her off.

“Sorry, it was my fault,” the scribe interrupted. “I needed some girl talk and we knew that if we told you were we were going you’d insist on coming and, well, I wanted to talk to Tommie and it was all really embarrassing and... Yeah. Sorry Boone, it was nothing against you.”

Boone started at Veronica for a moment.

“What the hell couldn’t you have talked about in the barracks or mess hall?” He asked. Veronica started fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe.

“It was a lot of things, really, um, _personal_ things. And it took nearly all the time we were walking to deal with it, so it’s not like we could have settled it over a beer in the mess.”

Tommie watched, mesmerised; she could almost see a blush creeping up on Veronica’s face.

_This girl could give me a run for my money..._

Boone also seemed to be gaining some colour.

_Almost as red as his bloody beret._

“So when you say ‘personal’,” he cleared his throat, “you er, you mean...”

Tommie felt it prudent to step in at this point.

“Boone, you know my past, you know the amount of education I’ve had – Veronica just wanted to check some things, that’s all.”

“I... yes. Sorry.” He stammered.

“It’s okay,” Veronica said. “But we really ought to get these supplies to Polati.” Boone nodded.

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “I’ve had enough of watching an empty path for one day.”

Boone and Veronica strode off towards the centre of camp, ED-E floating behind them, Tommie made to follow them but the Trooper that had been guarding with Boone reached out a hand and gently grabbed her arm.

“Um, ma’am?” Tommie turned to him; he was a young man, barely out of his teens. His face a picture of worry.

“Yes?” She asked.

“I didn’t mean to pry, ma’am, but I heard you say you’re good at dealing with, um, _personal things_?” Tommie raised her eyebrows.

“You’ve been to Vegas recently,” she said; it wasn’t a question.

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you spent a bit too much time in Gomorrah.” The young trooper’s face also began to match Boone’s beret.

“Yes’m.” Tommie pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“Right. I really don’t want to deal with this so I’ll give you some all-rounder advice: healing powder won’t do much but it’s worth a try if there’s any sores. Otherwise get yourself to the medical tent. And stay away from the cheaper girls in the future; the NCR have enough to deal with without their soldiers’ dicks rotting off,” she added before walking on away from the Trooper and over to Boone and Veronica, who both gave her questioning looks.

She turned to Boone.

“The NCR’s sex ed programme has a lot to answer for,” she said.

Boone frowned.

“We don’t have one.”

“Exactly.”

 

\---

  

“Ah, Ms Sanderson,” Major Polati said, getting to his feet as the group walked into the tent. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Tommie strode over and shook the man’s hand.

“I found out what happened to the soldiers that were bringing the supplies,” she told him. “I thought you might want to hear.”

“Go on.”

“They had been ambushed at some point along the route,” she began.

“Hmm. We’d feared as much. Any idea as to who or what?”

“It was Legion,” she said. Polati exhaled slowly.

“I should have expected that, but how did you know it was them?”

“Because she danced around them in her underwear,” Veronica interjected.

Tommie turned to her.

“ _Really_?” She asked in an exasperated tone; Veronica simply gave her a mischievous grin in reply.

“Courier, explain yourself,” the Major demanded, his tone was level, but Tommie could sense the edge to it.

_Great, I’m a job title again._

“Look, sir, we got there and there was no Legion in sight. All we could see were the bodies of the soldiers killed and the supply case,” she explained. “The whole thing felt like a trap so I used a Stealth Boy to try to find out what I could without being detected.”

“So the underwear – I take it you were dropping your weight?”

“Yes sir.”

“And the _dancing_?”

Tommie shot a glare at Veronica, who now at least had the good graces to now look a little guilty at her remark.

“While I managed to get the supplies undetected, I was spotted retrieving these.” She reached into her pack and produced two letters. “I daresay the families of the soldiers will want them,” she said, handing them to Polati; he nodded. “Anyway, the legionaries came over the dune to investigate so I had to make my way back to my guys in a bit of a creative fashion to avoid any of us being discovered.”

Major Polati nodded at this, seemingly satisfied.

“And that’s what I wanted to let you know, sir,” Tommie continued. “There’s Legion close. Really close. And they’re bloody cunning; this trap was really well done. If I hadn’t been taking it slow then I might be dead in the Wastes right now.”

“Ms Sanderson, I thank you for your bravery and quick thinking, but this isn’t exactly news,” Polati told her. “We know the Legion to be clever tacticians and you don’t have to tell me that they’re close. You’ve seen the camp graveyard...” 

“I’m sorry sir,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to bring useless news to you. But there’s at least two wandering around out there, probably looking for their missing loot, and I’d feel remiss if I didn’t tell you.”

Polati nodded.

“That’s fair. And thank you for retrieving these,” he gestured to the letters. “That was above and beyond. Now please take those supplies to Quartermaster Hayes and return to me for further assignment in the morning. I think you’ve earned a rest, for tonight at least.” 

“Of course; thank you, sir. See you in the morning.” She turned and walked out of the tent, her companions following close behind.

“Right, better get these supplies in, then,” she said.

“What were those letters?” Veronica asked.

“You write them in case you die in the field. They send them back to your family,” Boone explained.

“And I thought you were just looting those NCR guys,” she told Tommie brightly. Tommie shrugged.

“I’m not going to pretend that we didn’t get some ammo out of it.”

 

 

* * *

_2:37AM 14 th November 2281_

There was an overwhelming smell of whisky which began to rouse her even before the shaking started.

“What the-” Tommie croaked. She blinked hard a few times and finally the world came into focus. “Boone, what’s wrong?”

Boone was crouched next to her bunk, his hand gripping the top of her arm far too tightly.

“Why are they alive?” He whispered, his voice hoarse.

“What?”

“You told Polati that there’s still at least two out there, alive. Legion. Why aren’t they dead?” Tommie toyed with the idea of giving him some smart-arse reply about beating hearts and vital signs, but she pushed the thought aside.

 _This is probably one of those don’t-be-a-dick occasions_ , she reasoned.

“I was in my underwear, no weapons.” She explained.

“What about Veronica? And ED-E? You’re going to tell me they were half naked with no weapons?” He hissed.

“Veronica had my rifle, and she and ED-E had instructions not to engage unless I was in trouble – and even then only if they could see me. Veronica isn’t a great shot at the best of times and ED-E can get a bit excited, I just didn’t want to risk dying in the dessert in my knickers,” she whispered in reply as calmly as she could. “And we had no idea who or what was out there. Knowing our luck, someone would fire one round and then a bloody parade of sentient deathclaws could come out of the woodwork. I promise, if we’d known there were just two legionaries, we would have taken them out. But we didn’t know, so we just had to be careful.”

Boone watched her for a minute.

“Is that true?”

“Of course.”

Boone nodded, and seemed to relax. He removed his hand from Tommie’s arm and stumbled slightly into a sitting position on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” Tommie said; Boone shook his head.

“I should have been there,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, we won’t run off without you again,” Tommie told him, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

“I should have been there,” he repeated. “You could have-”

“But we didn’t. We’re all fine. Everything’s okay.”

Boone sat in silence for a moment before staggering to his feet.

“I should have been there,” he said once more as he turned to lurch towards his own bunk. Tommie couldn’t be sure if he was even talking to her anymore, or to anyone but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while!  
> Tbf, writing this took a serious back seat as I finished up my thesis in Feb and spent much of March prepping for my viva (the thesis defense exam) - but as my viva's been indefinitely postponed (as one of the examiners offered me a job... which therefore meant that I had to get a new examiner :p) and as Camp NanoWrimo is back in full swing, I thought the time was right to come back to writing prose :) (at least until the job starts at the end of the month!)
> 
> So apologies if this is a bit wobbly (I feel rusty writing things that aren't reports and conclusions at the minute...) - I hope it reads ok!


	29. Mojave: Sawbones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So recently I've been writing way more than I have for a while, but for some reason at the minute I only seem to be properly inspired to write things that are way-off in the story :/ :p So here's Veronica and Tommie having a chat...

 

_15 th November 2281_

 

“Are you okay now?” Veronica asked, frowning. Tommie held up her hand and gestured to the scribe to give her a minute.

She retched again.

“Okay, I think that might have been the last of it,” Tommie said finally. “I might need to sit down for a bit, though.”

“I could take you to Dr Richards?” Veronica suggested; Tommie’s eyes widened.

“I am not going back in there,” she said hurriedly. “Not after that.”

“You saved a man’s life,” Veronica said soothingly, she tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. “Anyway, where did you learn to do all that?”

“Books, mainly,” Tommie replied. “Hence the, um, vomit. That was the first time I had to actually saw through someone’s bones.”

“Well,” Veronica continued. “I think you did really well. You worked right through and only started retching after the last stitch was in.”

“And even then I didn’t vomit until I was outside,” Tommie agreed. “That’s me: consummate professional, through and through. Have we got any purified water?”

Veronica passed her a bottle from which she drank deeply and gratefully.

“Cheers,” she said finally, coming up for air. “I can kill a person up close and personal with without thinking on it too much, I can even do in-depth surgery if I need to, but anything involving limbs...” she shuddered.

“Well anyway, that’s over now,” Veronica said as Tommie returned to the bottle of water. “Once we’ve found out who’s been stealing Hydra from the medical tent then we can get back to Polati and see if he has any more military needs.”

“Stone,” Tommie said suddenly; Veronica raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry?”

“Stone’s been doing it. I bet you a hundred caps.”

“Well, you seem pretty sure about this,” Veronica said, crossing her arms.

“He has all the symptoms of Hydra abuse, plus Sexton was saying that the lad’s been going walkabout at night.”

Veronica’s face split into a grin.

“Oh, _Sexton_ said it?” She teased in a sing-song voice.

“Yes, he did.” Tommie replied levelly.

“Been spending a lot of time with Private Sexton, then?”

Tommie rolled her eyes.

“We went for a drink last night. You know this. You told him to make sure that I was back before midnight or else you’d sick ED-E on him.”

“And yet you haven’t told me a single detail,” Veronica chided. “It’s really mean to do that to someone who is as starved of gossip as I am.”

“Well, my dear,” Tommie said. “You’ll just have to keep hungry. There isn’t much to tell.”

“Oh, well that sucks,” Veronica replied, her face falling slightly. Tommie shrugged.

“Well... I mean, we’re going to meet up again tonight – assuming I don’t get roped into anything,” she said.

“Wait, so that means it _did_ go well!” Veronica grinned.

“I suppose,” Tommie replied, her tone uneasy. “He’s just... He’s a really nice bloke.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?”

Tommie frowned.

“I guess,” she conceded. “It’s just... weird. I’m not exactly adept at this dating thing. Fucking people to get what I need? Fine. Easy, in fact. But this is...” She trailed off with a quiet, sad sigh. Finally, she shook her head.  “Anyway,” she said, “let’s get this Hydra business tied up and find out what’s next. Maybe Boone will finally get to make Swiss cheese out of some Legion skulls.”

She gave Veronica a bright smile and started walking towards the barracks. Veronica watched her go for a moment, her expression betraying a combination of confusion and concern. Finally, she followed behind.


	30. Mojave: Trust Me

_16 th November 2281_

 

“I’m coming with you,” Boone said shortly. Tommie shook her head.

“No you’re not. Stop it. We’ve talked about this,” her tone betrayed her exasperation.

“There are Legion there, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting you walk right into that,” he told her for what may well have been the third or fourth time that day. Tommie pinched the bridge of her nose; this argument had been going on since she had received her orders to clear Nelson of occupying Legion forces that morning.

“You see crimson, you shoot,” she told him again.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “But it puts a bit of a spanner in the works during recon missions.”

“What the hell do you need recon for?” Boone snapped. “You know who you’re fighting: the Legion. Scouts have told us how many are patrolling the town. What more do you need?”

“How many are in the houses? What weapons are they working with? How many dogs? Have they put any plans in motion against the NCR?” She replied, counting the questions on her fingers. Boone scoffed.

“And how exactly do you think you’re going to figure all that out?” Tommie opened her mouth to reply. “And don’t give me that sarcastic ‘counting’ shit again,” he said, cutting her off. “ _Really_ tell me, how are you going to find out their plans?”

“I’ll speak with them,” Tommie replied simply.

“They won’t tell you anything,” Boone said. “You’re a woman for a start. You’re not Legion. They have no reason to tell you anything.”

Tommie nodded.

“I know, but you’d be surprised how many people who have no reason to tell me anything end up telling me far more than they would have liked.” She put her hand on his arm. “Please just trust me on this; I know what I’m doing.”

Boone glared at the woman. He’d seen with his own eyes what Tommie could achieve with words alone, in addition to the stories that he’d heard from the woman herself. But an old suspicion began to rear its ugly head.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they had yet to encounter Legion together and that he had yet to hear of her killing even a recruit. Of course she had told him all about Nipton, about her revulsion at what had been done to the town, but he remembered all too well her admission that the men there had left unscathed as well. He shook his head as though trying to shake the thought loose.

_She was on her own. Couldn’t have fought that many alone._

He had repeated that thought more and more, almost as a mantra, over the last week. He felt his suspicions, around Tommie and the Legion, around her sudden lack of interest in pursuing Benny, around her intentions with the NCR and its members, weighing on him.

_And that scar..._

He thought back to the scarring on her ring finger on her left hand. She still had said nothing about a husband or wife.

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you,” he said, his voice low and tone cold. “So why should I trust you with something like this?”

Tommie took her hand from his arm and stood back. The pair stared at one another for a short while, Boone wearing a wary and almost angry expression; Tommie’s face a picture of hurt and confusion. Then suddenly, her expression changed to one of determination.

“You’re being a fucking arsehole, do you know that?” she said. Before Boone could even think of something to say in response, Tommie had stormed out of the barracks.

 

 

* * *

 

Even taking care to avoid the frag mines, it took Tommie very little time to walk to Nelson. When confronted by the Legionary guard at the gate, she willingly allowed herself to be taken (or rather manhandled) to meet the Decanus in charge of the town.

“Ave, Dead Sea,” she greeted him, recalling his name from the guard’s mutterings on the walk over. “What is the situation here?”

The use of his name seemed to throw him off; the man's pose stiffened before he spoke.

“My orders are to hold Nelson. So far the enemy north of here has been too frightened to move against us." He replied; Tommie was sure that he was speaking through gritted teeth behind his mask. "Why should it concern you?” 

 _Well this one’s a bit chatty_ , she thought, surprised. _And here I thought that level of cheek would earn me a slap._

Buoyed by how quickly Dead Sea had answered, Tommie continued.

"Why haven't you attacked the enemy?” She asked; she knew that she was pushing her luck and sure enough the guard that had walked her to the house struck her with the back of his hand. Ignoring the instinct to respond in kind, she nursed her cheek as the Decanus strode leisurely over to her.

“I _have_ attacked the enemy,” he snarled as he came closer. “I led the assault on Nelson with two contubernia against twice our number. It is Caesar's wish that we hold this position. Our mere presence this side of the Colorado humiliates and demoralizes the enemy.” He was very close now and Tommie was becoming acutely aware of his stature.  “It is Caesar's will that I hold this position - that I _not_ advance,” he continued. “If you're so eager to see Camp Forlorn Hope fall, why don't you go attack it all by yourself? _Well?_ ” He added, his tone amused; the men around him laughed appreciatively.

Tommie paused for moment and thought.

“Alright,” she replied finally. Her face split into a wide grin as she looked up at Dead Sea. “Sounds like fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead Sea *is* proper chatty, though. :p


	31. Mojave: Intelligence on Nelson

_16 th November 2281_

 

“Major Polati,” Tommie greeted the man as she walked into the command tent; Polati nodded in reply. “I have some intelligence on Nelson,” she continued. “Numbers and orders.”

Polati raised his eyebrows.

“Very good,” he said. “Supposing the information is accurate.”

“Numbers are almost certainly correct – unless they’ve had a band of soldiers join them in the last hour. Plans are less certain but I feel as though they’re not far from the truth.”

“What are the plans?” Polati asked.

“Well their orders are to hold,” Tommie explained. “They reckon they’re doing enough damage to morale by sitting on Nelson, and it seems they haven’t had any further instruction from on high.”

Polati frowned.

“No orders to move on Forlorn Hope?” He asked; Tommie shook her head.

“No. At least not yet.”

Polati’s eyes narrowed, he looked at Tommie with a look of barely concealed suspicion.

“And how exactly were you able to obtain this information?” He said.

“I spoke to the Decanus in charge,” she replied with a shrug. “He was surprisingly forthwith, which is why I’m concerned about how truthful he was being,” she conceded. “But I have a feeling that he thought he was just showing off to some scared profligate who he could capture or make a messenger. He sounded pretty defensive when I goaded him at any rate.”

“And you were allowed to leave?” Polati asked, his face still incredulous.

“Well I had to agree to come here and kill everyone...” Tommie began, but she was interrupted by the sound of cocking from the rifles of the soldiers around the room. She rolled her eyes. “I’m not actually going to do it,” she said to the group at large, holding her hands up. “Though it might be worth getting some of the soldiers outside to fire at nothing and shout to keep up appearances,” she added to Polati. “Otherwise though, the whole thing was really rather dull.”

Polati considered her a little while longer before a smile began to creep onto his face.

“Alright,” he said. “Give us the numbers and then go and prepare for the battle. Is there anything you need before you head out?”

“I could use some more 5.56 if you have any going spare,” she said. “And I’ll need a few minutes to go and find Private Sexton before we go.”

Polati nodded sagely.

“Ah yes, I have heard reports that you have been,” he coughed uncomfortably, “ _getting close_.”

“Well yes,” Tommie conceded. “But it’s more that I killed a lone Legionary on the way back and his ear has been in my pocket now for almost an hour.” She grimaced, “and to be honest it’s starting to make me feel rather uncomfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, though it was supposed to be longer - I had the date of my viva (final PhD exam) confirmed on the same day I started a research post (also: yay! First academic job! :D) and it turns out that working and revising a 10 hour day then going off to revise is not conducive to writing for fun (well, at least not for me) - but I will try to update as and when I can.
> 
> I felt weird about how I'd left the last chapter, and this was originally supposed to be at the end of that one, though I ended up separating them for *dramatic effect*. The bit that comes after this (and was supposed to be published with it) has been written, and rewritten, but for some reason I'm not totally happy with it. Plus it feels like it should go with some Wasteland bits (which have been a little neglected of late).
> 
> Anyway, I ramble on. Thank you for reading! <3


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